


cosmic

by roboticdisposition



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Acceptance, Identity, M/M, Sexuality, george is lonely n will helps, id die for george memeulous, ive made a severe and continous lapse of my judgement, then george has a sexuality alert crisis, then it all crumbles, this is a shit show but peace sign its here regardless, two stupid boys figuring shit out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticdisposition/pseuds/roboticdisposition
Summary: Will’s hand poked over George’s shoulder, identifying a man, young, dirty blonde hair, all long legs and racy smiles. “There… do you think he’s pretty?” Will whispered, words clear as daylight in George’s ear.“I wouldn’t know, Will - I’m not gay.” George responded, words numb in the air, confusion blanking over his thoughts.--It was Will, and it was the boy, and it was everything in between. It was spoken truths hidden in liquor, it was looking across a dance floor and feeling fourteen again, it was Will, and it was the boy. And it was finding him pretty.





	cosmic

**Author's Note:**

> hiya so this was a mistake lmao this spiralled and was only meant to be short but lol this is not short so take from that what u will
> 
> it's a mess just so we're under no preconceptions but also i like it so ur gonna have to deal with it
> 
> the plot is so convoluted at this point i couldn't even tell u what it's about but its loneliness and sexuality and fear and acceptance thats the core of it and it wasn't supposed to end up like that but it did anyway lmao
> 
> im gonna shut up now but hope u enjoy pls let me know what u think xx

It was weird, George thought, feeling lonely in a crowd of people. He was two thirds his way down his sixth drink, or something like that. His head felt fuzzy like scarred velvet, he thought maybe he should stop drinking, or maybe he just hadn’t drunk enough.

They were throwing something resembling a house party - one of Alex’s old mates birthdays, or something. George couldn’t remember and he couldn’t be bothered to think.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know anyone, because he did, he just - he felt off. Something was scratching at his chest and it wouldn’t go away. Something to do with loneliness, he supposed. Something to do with change.

The house had been empty the past few days, Alex spending most of his time around James’, and it wasn’t that George minded, it was just that he felt lonely. He didn’t do well on his own, didn’t do well without noise and bodies and something buzzy in the air. George stared into the distance, feeling distant, feeling numb.

He supposed he should’ve been alright now, with the house brimming with people, all alcohol smiles and hazy laughs. It was just that he wasn’t. George still felt a tug of something at the back of his throat, something poisoning the alcohol as he tossed it down his neck.

George rubbed his eyes, trying not to let it overwhelm him. He looked around, endless bodies but no one home. He sought out Will instead, watching wandering hands touching friends George thought he’d seen in a dream; he would have preferred not to look, in hindsight.

It wasn’t that he minded, he told himself again. It wasn’t like he was jealous. He just felt lonely, lonely in a way that he forgot what it felt like, lonely in a way that made his chest ache. He just felt lonely, this empty hole ever present in his chest.

His life had been so busy, endless, and it’d all grinded to a holt. He just felt lonely, the world eating him up and spitting him out like chewing gum.

George supposed he was being silly, supposed he was drunk and sleep deprived - it didn’t matter either way. He’d be over it in the morning. It was just unsettling, all lucid and green in his bloodstream. He wasn’t used to it, hadn’t felt like this in a while.

It crept up on him slowly, empty house, echoing walls, slowly driving him insane. He didn’t like it, didn’t want it to settle, didn’t want it to become a thing, but it seemed out of his control.

He looked over at Will again, huddling into this girl’s atmosphere. He thought he wanted that, not in that way, not in any way, necessarily - he just wanted something. He wanted the feeling to go away.

George tossed back his drink, burning his throat as he finished the rest of it. He was just lonely. Everything chaotic and never-ending, but suddenly slowed down. He supposed it’d been on the horizon for a while, this constant distance and ache in his chest.

But suddenly it was front and centre, Fraser in the distance chatting to some blonde, Alex grinding up against James, splashing liquor on the carpet, and Will with some mates, all arms waving and smiles beaming.

He stood there, backed into the corner, feeling desperate and alone, surrounded by a thunderstorm. George heaved a sigh, chest heavy, and went to go refill his glass, thinking there nothing else to do.

\--

George noticed Alex wasn’t there the minute he woke up. He supposed he didn’t blame him really, reckoned he’d gone back to James’. But it was that same feeling, the growing bubble of emotions from the night before, pushing against his ribs until he couldn’t breathe.

George tried to ignore it, wandering out across the carpet, toes digging into the fabric, clocking the glasses overflowing the sink, a new stain on the rug and some jackets thrown across the sofa. He rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the mess and throwing himself against the cushions.

He thought about Alex, and he thought about James. Everything changing beneath his fingertips. He tried to tell himself he didn’t mind, it didn’t matter, and it didn’t, not really. It was just that the ache becoming constant. This desperation clawing.

It wasn’t even Alex specifically, George thought, dragging himself back onto his feet, maybe he was just who he knew, who he was used to. He didn’t like change, he never had. He supposed he didn’t like being alone either, it was becoming apparently frequent, by this point.

George put the kettle on before his feet gave up on him, leaning against the counter, silence in the room dense and heavy. It was cold, lifeless. George tried not to shiver.

He thought it strange, buying a new house not to live in it - although George supposed he was just being bitter. Alex was still paying his half, even if he wasn’t there. In the beginning George thought it’d be nice, having more space to himself, then suddenly he was drowning in white walls and clean sheets. Everything like void, empty.

He didn’t do well without company, he thought again, shaking his head. He was lonely, all empty and aching. It wasn’t Alex’s fault, he was just someone to blame.

George felt childish, like it was something of a tantrum. He scratched down his neck and poured his tea, ignoring the mess, shoving everything off the sofa, jackets falling on the floor before he kicked up his feet. He was pulling out his phone before he knew what he was doing. Needing something more than this.

George: are u too hungover to come keep me company

He sighed, heavy, pressure thick on his lungs. A message came through before he could over analyse it all, he thought that for the best.

Will: im dead on me feet

Will: im gonna blame u for this

Will: but yeah ill come over just let me get out of bed first

George felt his chest widen, this impossible ache he couldn’t figure out. He didn’t have any answers and he didn’t know how to get them. All he knew was he was lonely and the house was empty. He knew Will wouldn’t ask, he’d just understand.

He supposed Alex was the same, although he was more questioning, more demanding. And he supposed it didn’t matter anyway, with him around James’. George winced, feeling needy, feeling stupid. Feeling like he should be better than this.

He sighed, fingers dancing across the keyboard in reply.

George: lazy fucker

George: doors open just let urself in ill make tea

He didn’t like it, feeling vulnerable. It terrified him, something in the words glaring and bright, taunting him as he looked at the screen. It felt heavy, George felt weighed down with the emptiness.

Will: thanks be there in a bit x

George sighed, something unlocking the ache in his chest. He didn’t understand it but it made him feel small, all unknowing and scared. He just felt lonely, like the flat was crushing him into pieces and he was slowly losing himself. It was stupid, George knew it was stupid, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He drunk his tea, burning his tonsils with the heat, picking up his phone again.

George: yeah

George: see u then

Will didn’t respond again, and George felt like it’d be fine, like he would be fine. He needed something different, something that wasn’t the same four walls. He needed life and he needed company, but George hated admitting it.

He put his tea down and got up to clean the flat, thinking about distraction and thinking about the monster eating at his chest, chewing on his organs like sweeties. He thought he could hope this was temporary, even if he knew it wasn’t.

\--

“Hey, where’s this tea then-” Will bounced through the door, as if hangovers were a ridiculous concept.

George just watched him, slack jaw, open mouth, “Fucking Mr Happy, what’s gotten into you.”

Will snorted, “Nothing, I was offered free tea ‘nd I wanted some.”

George shook his head, huffing under his breath. He tried to smile, tried to dream it all back to normal, like maybe this feeling was a temporary matter, like the hole in his chest would be stitched up and it’d be long forgotten. But he knew it was far-fetched and stupid.

Will flung himself on the sofa next to him, filling the walls with colour. George rubbed at his eyes, putting his phone away, feeling this fear, this warmth, spreading through his limbs. He hated it, this dependence and this never-ending ache.

“Milk and sugar?” George asked, robotic as he walked to the kitchen, setting the kettle on, the noise building in the background as Will nodded silently.

“Gonna order some food did you want anything?” Will asked, taking off his jacket and nestling into the cushions. George felt his shoulders drop and his muscles unwind. He winced, clenching his eyes shut. This ache, this unsettling fear always there, lurking in the background.

George hummed, trying to focus on Will, the company, the faint itching of warmth, trying to ignore the buzzing through his veins and the ache between his ribs, “I’ll just nick some of yours.”

“You absolutely will not,” Will shook his head, opening his phone. “Unbelievable.”

George just tried at a smile, sorting Will out some tea, tossing sugar into the mug and passing it over, sitting next to him on the cushions. His limbs were loose and heavy, weak with something he couldn’t define. It was loneliness, it was fear, it was everything changing while George was stuck, the same four walls.

“You alright then?” Will asked, cradling his mug. George slouched lowly, trying to sink into the cushions, avoid the undeniable.

George sighed, wishing he didn’t have to answer. He supposed he didn’t have to, but it was Will and George was hopeless. “Yeah - I mean… yeah.”

“Doesn’t really sound like you are, George, mate.” Will snorted, sitting back against the cushions, draining his tea, looking at him expectantly.

“Think I’m lonely.” George said, muttering slowly, words blurry and quiet.

“Huh?”

“Lonely,” George looked up, daring to face it, the admission stinging. Words quiet, sirens and cars whirring in the background, “I think I’m lonely.”

Will furrowed his eyebrows, looking at him like he was trying to understand. George just sighed, thinking it all stupid. “How did you come to that conclusion then, come on.”

“Cos… cos I’m lonely Will. That’s just - I’m lonely.”

“Gonna have to give me a reason mate, cos you look deeply disturbed-”

“I do not.” George interrupted, his hands feeling stiff and sweaty. He shuffled, trying to dislodge this feeling stuck in his throat. He tucked his feet under his legs, trying to hide into the cushions.

“You do,” Will paused, thinking, “What’s happened then?”

“Just - Al… No, It’s just, the new house, Alex is round James’ constantly, it gets lonely,” George muffled, wondering if that was all it was. It was the world changing, Alex and James, new houses, different walls. He was trying to work something out that he didn’t have the answers to.

Will didn’t respond for a moment, George tried to take the silence for what it was, feeling something hinting at warmth, something that wasn’t the same four walls, something that didn’t make him feel alone, “Are you sure you’re lonely or is it like - is it Alex… Alex and James?”

George frowned, “Dunno what you mean mate.”

“Like, are you like, bothered, by them-”

“Nah nothing to do with that,” George looked down, picking at his nails, breathing at a sigh, “You think they’re fucking?”

Will snorted, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “Maybe… probably actually yeah. They’re all touchy-feely and all that.”

“Yeah,” George nodded, pretending he understood, wishing he knew how to fix it.

“Maybe you are lonely,” Will trailed off, lost in a train of thought.

George laughed helplessly. “I told you that.”

George sighed, his head working on overtime, feelings overtaking thoughts and thoughts overtaking anything remotely logical. Maybe he missed the company, the noise, maybe he missed having someone around. He didn’t like it, feeling like this. Maybe it was all truths he didn’t want to admit.

He didn’t know how to deal with the rising emotion, all gunky stuck in his throat. He felt dizzy, sick, like he had some fever he couldn’t escape from.

“Want me to come and stay over for a few nights? Won’t even ask for a cuddle, I won’t.” Will hummed, looking over at George, “To keep you company and all, considering Alex’s buggered off.”

George frowned, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t have to - can look after myself, I can-”

“Never said you couldn’t mate,” Will laughed, “Just saying, with the lonely thing and all - you get all stuck in your head…”

“I’m alright.” George defended, knowing full well he wasn’t. He sat up straight, trying to remember what this faint trace of normality felt like, “Promise - just… yeah.”

Will looked at him, tilting his head - analysing him, sighing before he spoke again “Okay, offer’s always open. Don’t want George Memeulous going mad on his own, do we?”

George snorted, shaking his head, huffing out a laugh. Maybe he was over dramatising it all, maybe it didn’t need to be like this. Maybe it was just something of nothing, a result of change, new house, new dynamics. Maybe it was just different, maybe he was just adjusting.

He was just lonely, everything around him swirling up like a storm, Alex and James, moving houses, everything up in the air. He was lonely. He knew how it went, this loneliness, the unsettling sensations drifting through his skin. But it felt different, this time. Intense and never-ending. It felt like change and it felt scary.

George lost himself in his head, everything blurry, out of focus. He sighed, his lungs feeling full of smoke.

“Come on then, what you getting, you need some sustenance” Will tried to smile, shaking the order screen in front of George, his toes poking at his thigh, “And no, you’re not gonna just nick mine.”

George shook his head, snorting. “Just get us some chips or something -”

“What? Chips for breakfast?” Will laughed, “You’re off on one.”

George shrugged, “I’m hungover-”

“Right,” Will snorted, looking back at his phone. “If you want then.”

George tried at a smile, kicking his feet at Will. It was nice and familiar and he felt his chest a bit warmer, his head a bit clearer. He hated it, the ache shifting slowly. He knew it wouldn’t last, this feeling of something warm, feeling of life in the walls, distraction from his head. But he supposed it didn’t matter, not in that moment, with something he knew, something familiar. Something real.

\--

Alex had dragged him, Fraser and James to a club, someplace down the road with glaring lights and music too loud. They were drunk, all heady under spotlights and George tried to feel lost in it, blend in with bodies, swaying to the bass like he had control. He was trying, constantly fighting with this feeling, but it was always there.

It was like George was drifting: unable to forget, but unable to move on. Once he’d voiced it to Will, circled in red, it was drawn forward, brought into his focus and he couldn’t get it out of his head. It was this frustration and confusion, this battle of loneliness and guilt.

He was leaning against the bar, time an invisible concept as he watched crowds of bodies, looking out like it was some pretty landscape and not some sweaty bar in East London. He was drunk, something strong in his glass, trying to get into it, but he never felt drunk enough.

He tried to forget, watching Alex with Fraser, standing pretty off his arm, needing the anchor of contact. They looked like they’d had more to drink than he had, bodies swaying and conversation loud. George tried to smile, thinking of a life where he would’ve joined in, thinking it was distant.

He turned around, searching for James, finding him chatting to some bloke he said he knew from uni. George just stood still, feeling lost. He stood leaning against the bar, trying to look like he had a purpose, like he knew who he was, what he was doing.

The atmosphere was heavy, all dark lights and neon signs. George tried to think about having fun and nights where he could forget. Instead, he thought about the hole in his chest and the ache in his throat, constant reminders that something wasn’t right.

George winced, draining his glass. He felt lost without something in his hands so he ordered another, purely for the sake of it, more than anything else. George sighed, sipping his drink. He thought about joining Alex and Fraser, limbs flailing and pasts forgotten, but his feet couldn’t move.

He wanted company, he wanted something different. He thought about the house party and how he stood against the wall, backed against the corner like he was dwarfed in a lion's den. George supposed it was the same here, some club in the East end, feeling the ache, the loneliness, everything surrounding him like a fiery halo.

He tried to remember reality, the lights, the sounds, everything loud and distracting. George wanted that - to get lost in it all. He threw back half his drink, sighing as he swallowed, his throat struggling for breath.

George didn’t see Alex stumbling towards him, in the heat of it all, he was too consumed with these ideas in his head and in his chest, stealing his thoughts and hijacking his conscience.

“George, come dance with me,” Alex whined once he was close enough to be heard, voice all high pitched and slurred.

George hummed, looking around, everything merging in his head like distant dreams. He supposed this is what he was looking for, this idea of company, companionship, someone to get lost in.

Alex looked at him expectantly, Fraser forgotten in the background.

He supposed he wanted it, really. He wanted to dance and feel free and feel normal again, like it was him and Alex in the old house on a night out. But he didn’t want to face it. He didn’t want to deal with change and the ache in his chest.

If he went along with it, pretending it okay, melting into the beat with Alex for company, he’d have to accept it had changed. He’d have to accept that it wasn’t the same anymore. He’d have to accept that this lump in his chest did mean something after all. It was that he’d have to deal with everything he’d been trying to think of at arm's length.

It was that he'd have to deal with his head. And George didn't think he wanted to - he didn’t think he even knew how to. 

“Uh… no thanks mate. Think I'm good-”

“George,” Alex repeated, furrowing his brow, stepping closer. George could smell his aftershave. He felt sick, dizzy with it. He didn’t know what he wanted, how to fix it. But he knew he didn’t want it like this.

“Huh?” George shook his head, the weight of something pressing down on him. Alex wanted to dance, wanted to spend time with him but all George could do was overthink.

“Dancing, with me, you know cos we're in a club.” Alex stepped closer, tugging at George's sleeve.

“I-”

“Hardly seen you lately,” Alex said one last time, fingers clawing at his sleeves. George felt ripped to pieces; he wanted it to go back to how it was, when he could look around and not feel something empty in his chest. It had changed and it wasn’t the same and George couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

George sighed, Alex frowned. The world slowed down around them.

“You alright?” Alex asked, rubbing his arm.

George looked up, looked at him, “Yeah - just, not up for it tonight… sorry.”

Alex tried to smile, wobbling on his feet as he rocked closer, “‘S’alright.” Alex hugged him, arms loose like he was barely in control, wrapping around his torso, breathing against his neck.

George sighed, clenching his eyes shut. Alex pulled away, smiling at him before finding Fraser again, dragging him off to dance instead. George watched them, feeling like a loose thread off to the side.

He didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know how he felt. He supposed he didn’t know anything, not anymore. He felt lost in crowds of bodies, in his own flat - everywhere, this constant desire for bodies and warmth, something real.

He thought about Will, about loneliness, about the cup of tea the other morning. George clenched his eyes tighter, willing the world away. He thought about Will and didn’t know what else to do. He thought about Will and wanted it all to leave him alone.

George pulled out his phone, feeling lost when he should’ve felt found. He ignored his messages, swiping away notifications, everything long forgotten in the after hours. He found Will’s contact, hesitating before his fingers danced across the screen.

George: are u busy

George: at a club but im bored

He waited, and waited, thinking Will had other plans, thinking he actually had a life that didn’t revolve around him. Then a message buzzed through, the vibrations thrumming through his nerves up to his skull like something electric.

Will: not sure thats the point of a club u know

Will: think its supposed to be fun

George smiled weakly, trying to think this all okay. He sipped at his drink and held his breath.

George: yeah but its not

George: u doing anything

George: could come along

George: keep me company n all that

Will started typing before he stopped. It happened again, then again, and George thought maybe he was out of his depth, thinking he should go home, forget about this, pretend it normal, no matter how hard. But Will responded before he could consider it in actuality.

Will: yeah lemme find some better jeans n ill come find u

Will: where are u then

George breathed a hint of a smile. Something ached in his bones but he ignored it, downing his drink before he typed out the address. His fingers shaky across the blue lights of the screen, his throat drowning in liquor and coke. He sighed, pressing send.

It was just that it was Will, and it was the cold chips on hungover afternoons, and it was Alex, and it was the changing tides and cold walls. He supposed it was Fraser and James as well, but they were further away, less radiant, duller in tone. George didn’t think it a bad thing.

Will: be there in 10 its only round the corner

George sighed, shoulders slumping, bones feeling like they’d gone soft. He looked around, trying to think of everything but the obvious. He looked at the lights, the speakers, the people. Everything but himself. He felt consumed, but it didn’t fill the hole growing between his ribs.

He stood still, waiting, feeling like everything was impossible. George called another drink, bringing it to his lips before he saw Will muddling through the crowd.

George sighed, thinking it couldn’t have been ten minutes, torn that time had gone so fast but relieved that Will was here.

“Fancy seeing you here then,” Will called into his ear, gesturing at the bartender to return just as he turned away, “Give us a vodka and coke, if that’s alright mate.”

George just looked at him, itching on his feet, fidgeting against the bar. He smiled when Will looked at him, small with his lips curved at the edges.

“You alright then?” Will asked, thanking the bloke behind the bar, passing over a note.

George sighed, smiling desperately, thinking himself stupid, thinking himself overdramatic. “No,” Will frowned, sipping at his drink, “I’m lonely.”

“I saw Alex over there when I walked in, and if I’m not mistaken that’s James’ head behind you mate… What do you mean?”

George shrugged, looking through his eyelashes, resting his back against the bar, “I don’t know - it’s just… I’m lonely. We went through this.”

Will smiled, tilting his head, “Come on then,” he downed half his drink, switching it in his hands so he could grab at George’s sleeve, “Let’s get you out of your head for a bit.”

“What do you mean?” George asked, looking up, feeling something like comfort, something terrifying, something real and present.

Will raised his eyebrows, gesturing over to the crowd, people moving as one, nothing still, motion in lights and colours.

“Yeah, alright then,” George muttered, letting himself be pulled, letting himself be lured, letting himself feel like food for the sharks.

Will’s eyes were on him, on his eyes, on his hair, on his skin. Everywhere. He grinned, beaming as he turned on his heels and yanked on his sleeve, dragging him out to a sea of endless secrets. George felt swallowed whole, the world closing in, bodies surrounding him, all heat and warmth.

Will’s hand was burning ashes into George’s skin through his shirt, George felt his chest ache, his limbs feel lit with an all-encompassing fire, the bass as a thumping soundtrack.

The desperation was still there, all loud and demanding - the loneliness. But there was more, it was being hidden under a blanket, disguised with something warm, something buzzing around his skin like electrics. He let himself tumble after Will, moving with him when he wouldn’t move with Alex.

George felt shivers prick at his spine, dancing through his bones and crushing his ribs. His cheeks were flushed, his knees weak, body ready to collapse. It was so heavy, the atmosphere. He didn’t know why; George wished he knew why.

He didn’t know why he’d asked Will to come. He thought maybe he didn’t know anything at all, when it came down to it. Will looked at him, concern clouded with the atmosphere. George let himself get lost in it, thinking he could figure it out later, what any of it really meant. He supposed he was drunk, after all.

He let Will’s arms drag him into something loud and frantic. Limbs tangling, toes overstepping shoes, bumping into the endless crowd as bright lights looked down. It was all-consuming - encompassing. George didn’t have time to think. He supposed he needed that.

George’s head was woozy, all dizzy with alcohol and proximity. He danced like he had nothing in his head, like he wasn’t going to remember why he was here in the first place, like none of it mattered, like this was all there was.

Will was a constant, George thought. Always there. He looked at him, caught him looking his way, eyes shining, body swaying. Will wasn’t drunk, not like George was, although he didn’t suppose it mattered. George shook his head, clinging to Will’s arms like a lifeline, forgetting it all.

Will spoke up, saying something George couldn’t catch. He looked up, swaying his head, clutching onto Will’s shoulders. He felt lost.

“Pretty man behind you,” Will murmured with a violent whisper, chin nodding, gesturing somewhere infinite.

George sighed, the alcohol blurring any understanding, “Where?” he said, indulging him, considering he’d made him leave the house for this, twisting his neck to look.

Will’s hand poked over George’s shoulder, identifying a man, young, dirty blonde hair, all long legs and racy smiles. “There… do you think he’s pretty?” Will whispered, words clear as daylight in George’s ear.

“I wouldn’t know, Will - I’m not gay.” George responded, words numb in the air, confusion blanking over his thoughts.

“Objectively, though.” Will pushed, nudging George to get him to turn back around, facing him again, dragging his arms to the beat of a mindless tune again.

George paused, his head racing, silent and noisy. He looked over his shoulder again, he looked, thought the man could be a model, if he wasn’t already, and turned back to Will.

“I mean, guess so?” George furrowed his forehead, drunk; he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Yeah.”

Will grinned, leaning closer, wrapping his fingers in a deadlock behind George’s neck, securing them together in an endless stream of bodies. He didn’t say anything, George thought the moment had passed.

“He is, isn’t he.” Will said again. Eyes locked onto George’s, the focus all on him, the words somewhere else. Everything forgotten, everything fading into this.

“Yeah,” George agreed this time, nodding along easily. Thoughts elsewhere, thoughts on the hole in his chest, thoughts on Will, thoughts on the boy. Thoughts on things he couldn’t consider when drunk. So he ignored it, fucked it all off for Will and the music. It was better that way. For tonight, at least.

\--

George thought nothing of it at the time: he’d gotten back to the flat, collapsed into bed and slept like he was hibernating. Then he’d woken up. It came over him fast, a wash of memories, scrubbing over his skin, peeling back the layers until his blood was exposed.

He tried to forget about it, tried to move on, tried not to give it another thought. Instead, it was all he could think about. The boy's skin, his hair, his rolled up jeans, long sleeves, broad shoulders. The way Will looked at him, and then the way George looked at him.

It was nothing, George thought, hoping he would convince himself. It was nothing more than a long hazy night. Except that maybe it was.

It was Will, and it was the boy, and it was everything in between. It was spoken truths hidden in liquor, it was looking across a dance floor and feeling fourteen again, it was Will, and it was the boy. And it was finding him pretty.

George felt the breath leave his throat, head back against his pillows, staring up at his ceiling like there were invisible stars. He felt a force pressing down on his throat, choking him with something he didn’t understand.

He tried to ignore it. The lazy revelations, the midnight laughs and sober mornings. He blanked it out, trying to go back to sleep, except he couldn’t.

It was like everything had multiplied, everything he thought he at least had a tiny grasp on had fallen out of his grip. It was so much more than what it was, George supposed. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he missed Alex - or maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the new house. And maybe Will had wound his way into it all, twisting knives through what he thought he understood until nothing made sense at all.

The loneliness bred until it was indistinguishable. It wasn’t recognisable anymore, it was just aching, and confusion, and something heavy in his chest that he didn’t understand.

George tossed and turned, shuffling against the sheets, panting heavily for air he couldn’t reach, thoughts flying without making sense. He sat up swiftly, barely registering his head pounding over the rising taste in his throat. He made it the bathroom just in time, resting his head against porcelain.

It wouldn’t get out of his head, even sitting there, knees scraping, teeth chattering. It was all he could think about, Will, the boy. Everything.

He wanted to forget about it, at least for a little while, at least until his head stopped pounding and his stomach stopped heaving. He wanted a distraction, someone to take the thoughts out of his head. George sighed weakly, the ache in his chest doubled, creeping up in him slowly, wrapping tight around his throat, twisting into his lungs.

He wanted the distraction, the laughs, the way he could breathe when people were near. He wanted Will, and the way he managed to shut his head up, just for one night. Instead, he washed his mouth out, fingers clutching at the walls, crawling out into the kitchen to sort himself out.

He stood in the kitchen, all silent, no sounds. He thought he should get a drink, but he didn’t. He thought he should get some food, but he turned around and walked out. George collapsed in his bed again before he registered where his feet were walking.

Maybe he was sick, he thought. Or maybe he’d had a long night with words he couldn’t quite forget, words he didn’t think he meant, but drove his head to insanity regardless.

He wanted Alex home, George thought, closing his eyes, at least sometimes. He wanted Will, and the way his voice stitched his chest together like nothing had ever happened. He wanted the warmth and the distraction and everything that came with it. He wanted to feel back to normal, he supposed.

His eyes were fluttering against the pillow, mouth open and sighing against the pillow. George thought it’d be better once he woke up the second time, thought maybe he was just being silly, just letting his head get one step too many in front. It’d be better, he told himself again, trying to make himself believe it.

\--

Will was on the sofa when George woke up again, feet kicked up, blanket over his lap. George walked closer, away from his door frame into the open. He didn’t understand it, not really. Will definitely wasn’t here the last time he’d woken up.

“What’re you doing here,” George muttered, voice weak and croaky, grabbing some water as Will turned around.

Will beamed, looking far too radiant, all things considered. “Hi - oh, you don’t look good,” Will said, demeanour changing, frowning, eyebrows drawn together.

George laughed, coughing slightly, coming to sit next to him, “Nah, I’m fine… What are you doing though-”

“I got Alex to give me his key, thought you looked a bit rough last night so… here I am.” Will looked up, narrowing his eyes, staring through George like he could see his soul, rips and tears along with it.

“But why,” George protested, draining his glass, resting his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes.

Will hummed, “You said it yourself - you’re lonely, idiot.”

George frowned, creeping open his eyelids, “Don’t need you to look after me-”

“Shut up, I’m not,” Will groaned, rubbing his eyes, “Just didn’t want you to be on your own… you get a bit, y'know, when you’re left alone with your head and all.”

George sat up properly, like a rod had been shot through his spine, “Oh.”

“Can leave if you want, just wanted to come stay for a bit - hope you didn’t mind me sneaking in,” Will tilted his head, “Suppose I should’ve asked you really…”

“Nah, you’re fine,” George grumbled, something hazing his thoughts, hangover, remnants of sleep, whatever it was. “Just unexpected, is all.”

“You’re the one who’s been telling me how lonely you are, you idiot.”

“Well, yeah… Cos I am - lonely, that is.” George shut his eyes again, bright lights making his head spin, “Just didn’t think you were actually gonna do anything about it.”

“Dickhead, of course I was going to, who do you think I am. I can be nice you know-”

“Bullshit mate,” George rubbed his eyes, groaning, wishing he didn’t have to move to get more water. He opened his eyes instead, watching Will with his shiny eyes, all mocking and warm.

“Fuck off,” Will mumbled, “Just wanted to keep you company.”

George hummed, silence reigned for a couple of seconds. He felt settled, in a way. All cosy, feet kicked up on the coffee table. It didn’t mean everything else wasn’t there, it just meant maybe it was being pushed aside, for the moment. He felt something tugging at his chest as he processed it all, something about everything, nothing making sense any more.

“Can you get us some more water,” George said eventually, shutting up his head, pouting at Will, holding out his glass.

Will sighed, all big and dramatic, “Didn’t come over here to be your slave… just this once though,” he mumbled, taking George’s glass, standing up straight, cracking his back.

“Christ,” George laughed, “Stiff already, how long you been there?”

“Not long, just a couple hours,” Will called from the kitchen. George heard the tap running, felt something expanding in his lungs.

“Oh,” George whispered, his brain failing to process anything beyond the fact Will was here, and maybe he wasn’t so lonely in that moment, “Quite a while then.”

“Nah, just been going through me emails, you’s have a nice sofa, you know.” Will said, walking back in, wiping one hand on his jeans and passing the glass in his other hand to George. “Here.”

“Thanks,” George hummed, sipping at it, grasping it with both his palms, fingertips scraping the glass, clinging to the cup like it was all he had.

“Can leave whenever you want, you know,” Will added, sitting back down, “Just thought you wanted the company, but whenever you’re sick of me or whatever, I’ll go.”

George hummed, looking up, placing the glass down. “Can you just… stay for a bit, please.” The words fell out, again he felt vulnerable, something eating at him with whatever this all meant.

Will smiled, George looked away. “Course, you know I will mate.”

George sighed, feeling at home while he was lost at sea. He didn’t get it. He wished he could. He was lonely, he thought that was all there was to it, he thought it was Alex, and it was James, and it was feeling alone. He thought that was it. But it was more, now, he supposed.

His head spun, like he was trying to complete a puzzle without having any of the pieces. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand the aching feeling. He didn’t understand why he felt sick in his room, facing something he didn’t want to admit, but felt something similar to solace on the sofa, with Will.

It made no sense, the flashbacks to the boy in the club. The way he looked, the way Will looked at him, the way they looked at him. None of it made sense. It was rattling around like loose screws, scratching at his skull.

He didn’t get it. George supposed maybe he didn’t have to; he just wished he did, everything hazy and nothing clear. All he knew was that he was fucked, maybe in the end that was all he needed to know.

\--

George was drunk again, this time he was on his own. It wasn’t the best night, his head all blurry, the lights spinning, his heart pounding. He was trying to escape from his head, at least for a bit. It wasn’t working though, and George wondered if it ever would.

He’d seen Alex this morning, and Will when he’d snuck in the other day. He supposed maybe he was still lonely, something still feeling off inside, his muscles tense and his limbs heavy. But it felt like more than that. George couldn’t explain it. It was everything he wished he could forget.

Maybe it was more than loneliness, he thought numbly, trying to understand, when everything was falling to pieces.

He tried to keep it at bay when this bloke walked past, all muscles, tight skin, warm body. George tried to think nothing of it, tried to remember who he was, tried to remember how to feel comfortable in himself.

The bloke was pretty, George thought, everything creeping in, all slow and hazy, something like poisoned honey.

George shook his head, limbs loose, joints stiff. He looked away, looked at the floor, looked at the lights - looked everywhere that wasn’t him, or anyone else.

It wasn’t a big thing, George tried to reason, he was just being objective, the lad looked nice, maybe that was okay to admit. Maybe it wasn’t more than that, he hoped, fingers twitching against his glass, cheeks flushed under neon lights.

George stood there and swayed, letting something possess him, hold him still, keep him grounded. He didn’t do anything, in the end. He thought maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he’d forget about it and remember who he was when he was sober, and just maybe, it didn’t count at all.

\--

It wasn’t that things were changing, George crawled to the conclusion, although maybe they were. It was that he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He thought he was just being whiny and clingy and feeling lonely, but it all felt bigger than him, like he was just a pawn in a game of chess.

George thought he missed it; something about Alex all familiar with his company and his laugh, but he missed Will with his clarity, making George feel warm. It was loneliness but maybe it was longing. It terrified him. Something he still didn’t understand.

George thought about Alex, he thought about his company, he thought about Will, he thought about his warmth. He thought about the boy in the club - boys, in the club, all model-like with glossy skin. George thought about boys; he thought about men.

He felt something rising in his throat, something twisting up his blood, cutting him apart from the inside out. He shook his head, slapping his hands against his bed. He just wanted to feel better, like himself again.

George looked up, looking around his room properly, with eyes that felt foreign, eyes that he didn’t recognise. He wondered if he was dreaming, if he’d been drugged, if someone was controlling him.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was him. George knew it was him, feeling trapped with emotions he couldn’t deal with, something out of his control. It felt like something had taken over inside his lungs, pressing like it was going to break his ribs.

It was like he couldn’t focus on anything anymore, it was like he was spiraling out of control and nothing could stop it. George put his head in his hands, nails clawing at his cheeks.

He thought he knew himself. He thought he knew who he was. Maybe he didn’t, George supposed. Maybe he had to start again. Maybe he had to accept that things were changing.

\--

It had been barely ten minutes after he’d pressed tweet did George hear someone knocking on his door. George panicked, thinking he’d leaked his address or something equally as stupid during something resembling a meltdown.

His head was in his hands, his thighs twitching, feet antsy against the floor. He walked back and forth that many times he was surprised no one from below had complained. George turned to his messages in the end, opening his thread with Alex, sighing before clicking away.

George looked at Will’s contact, tilting his head, considering it, before locking his phone altogether, turning to his laptop instead. He was on Twitter; he shouldn’t have been. He must’ve rewritten this pointless tweet millions of times, rereading it, rereading it again. He immediately regretted it as soon as he pressed send.

@Memeulous: fucking LONELY man no wonder people buy egirls n shit

Someone knocked again, pounding against the wood like it was important. George supposed he should move and see who it was. It wasn’t going to be a hoard of fans with his address, he was just on edge, his head leaping to ridiculous conclusions.

He sighed, sitting up, groaning when the door shook again. “Fucking coming, hold on.” George mumbled, not loud enough to be heard the other side, but he said it regardless. He stood up, shoulders slouched, feeling like the life had been sucked out of him, and dragged his feet to the door.

“Oh,” George said, opening the door to Will’s fist, ready to knock again.

Will narrowed his eyes, confused, “Thought you weren’t going to answer.” He morphed his face into something warm, something alive, dropping his fist, “Sorry, knocked a few times there - didn’t wanna invade again like last time.”

George frowned, looking at him, properly looking at him. He had life behind his eyes, a pillow tucked under his armpit and a blanket tossed haphazardly around his shoulders. “What’re you doing here?” George asked carefully, leaning against the door.

Will smiled, pushing past him, nudging his stomach with the pillow as he walked into his house, “Keeping you company, idiot-”

“What?” George asked again, as if he didn’t understand.

Will turned slowly on his feet, looking confused - or concerned, maybe both, “Your tweet? You were lonely, didn’t want you to turn to fucking - whatever. So I am going to be your mate and keep you company.”

George groaned, unsure what to say, whether to say anything at all.

“I’m gonna stay with you for a week, s’long as you don’t mind… sure Alex won’t give a shit either way. I’ll just stay on the sofa, keep you company and all. Just to get your head in order, ‘cos I hate to say it, but you’ve been off lately-”

“I haven’t.” George protested, words not his own, body caving in as he finally shut the door, slouching back to the sofa in defeat. Will gave him a look. “Maybe I have, but it doesn’t mean you have to drop everything to look after me… I’ll get over it.”

Will threw his pillow at George, “Yeah, but you haven’t, have you mate?” He flopped down on the sofa, elbows nudging at George’s side. He tossed the blanket over their laps. “What we gonna watch then, get Netflix up or something, come on.”

George frowned, sighing, rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t understand anything anymore. His entire body wanted to cave into Will, lean into his side and let himself give into the company - so the hole in his chest would die down, at least a little. But he didn’t think he could.

Something about it all stopped him, his thoughts slurred around his brain like they were drunk and sloppy, everything confusing, nothing clear anymore.

“What? No - I don’t… You don’t have to fucking - do all this.” George groaned, accidentally snapping, his muscles tensing without his knowledge. “You shouldn’t have to-”

“George, shut up.” Will told him, “I want to.” Will looked away, fidgeting under the blanket. The air still. “Anyway, you’re right mopey, you are, so really, by me helping you, I’m helping myself - then I don’t have to listen to you go on…”

“Fuck off,” George knocked him with his elbow, “I don’t go on. I’m just - lonely.”

Will rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you might’ve mentioned. So suck it up and let me fucking sit with you, I can’t be that bad that my company is worse than being alone.”

George sighed, looking at him through the corner of his eyes, the warmth of the blanket sinking into his skin, warming him from the inside. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to feel like this, and he didn’t want to rely on Will to make it better.

But he felt something soft in his limbs, the fight slipping away gently, like it was never even there in the first place, like he’d imagined the whole thing. “Yeah, whatever.” George sighed. “Just, you’re gonna buy the tea, ‘cos you drink too much of mine.”

Will grinned, flopping his head to the side, “Nah, I’ll just nick yours. You’re the one that needs the company. Least you could do to repay me is give me free tea.”

“Fuck off,” George groaned, “Pass us the laptop then.” He said instead, “What do you fancy?”

“Stick on something soppy, get your emotions out-”

“Thought you were supposed to be making me feel better, not making me cry.” George furrowed his eyebrows, scrolling through Netflix regardless, looking for some rom-com.

Will snorted, “Nah, you’ll feel better with my company regardless… anyway, you fucking like these movies, dickhead.”

George nudged him again, elbows sharp against Will’s skin, “Fuck off, we’re watching this.”

“I’ll give you a cuddle when you cry - tissues on tap… the works.” Will smiled, tucking the blanket over George’s other side.

George frowned, thinking it all wrong, thinking maybe he liked this company - being looked after, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

\--

They were half-way through the movie when Alex walked in, all loud, demanding attention. Will looked up first, George kept his eyes on the movie, thinking Will could deal with him.

“Oh, hi.” Alex grinned, bouncing over the sit on the floor in front of the laptop carefully positioned across the room. “Nice to see you, Will.”

Will narrowed his eyes, “Yeah… you too. You alright mate?”

George sighed, rubbing at his eyes, pretending they weren’t watering. He scuffled to sit upright, fingers fighting to reach for the laptop. He pressed pause, finally looking at Alex in the silence.

“What do you want?”

“I do live here too, you know?” Alex beamed, winding him up.

George snorted, “Seems like you’re around James’ a lot though mate…”

Will just sighed, knocking George with his toes. “You alright though?” He directed at Alex, shuffling away from George. George looked up at him from where he’d slumped against his shoulder, grumbling about having to sit up properly.

“Me? Oh, yeah.” Alex smiled, crossing his legs, “It’s good you’re here, actually Will-

“Why?” George mumbled, confused.

“Well,” Alex started, scrolling through his phone before he spoke again, “James’ invited me to see his parents… like for a week or so - he’s going to stay with them for a bit so I’m going along.” Alex put his phone down, smiling back up at George with concerningly white teeth.

Will looked at Alex, looked at George, back to Alex - gave himself whiplash, near enough. He opened his mouth, shut it again. George just stared at the pair of them, narrowed eyes, trying to figure it out. Will got there first.

“So uh… you’re staying with James? At his parents?” Will asked, “Just so I know what you’re on about, ‘cos I won’t lie, Alex, mate, you sound like you’ve lost it.”

Alex snorted, “Yeah, that’s ‘bout right. James invited me, I thought it’d be nice, and all.”

George remained silent, struggling to process the words slicing through the atmosphere. He just felt confused, everything blurry and hazy.

“Anyway,” Alex continued, gesturing with his hands, “My point is, it’s good you’re here Will - keep George company and all that-”

“I don’t need constant fucking company, dickheads - I just, get lonely…” George protested, waving his hands at Alex, turning to Will, getting a raised eyebrow from the pair of them.

“Not gonna lie to you George mate, but you kinda do,” Will muttered, having the decency to look at least slightly uncomfortable telling him so. George knew it was true - he knew the whole room knew it was true. No one was under any illusion, but he didn’t like it.

Alex nodded, humming - agreeing. “Yeah,” He stood up, moving to get himself a drink, calling from the kitchen, “You get all in your head - have been lately too.”

George looked at his fingernails, picking at the skin, “Shut up,” he said, willing the conversation to move on, back onto Alex and James - away from himself. He didn’t want to discuss it, didn’t really want to admit his debilitating loneliness, if he could help it.

Will sensed it, opening his mouth again before George could think straight, “Alex, does this mean you and James… you know… are a thing?” He raised his eyebrows at George, poking him in the arm while Alex fumbled around for a glass.

Alex didn’t answer, Will tilted his head, looking at George, winking like the idea of James and Alex was unheard of, when it was anything but. George snorted, shaking his head, poking Will back, all jabby with his nails, trying to forget the discomfort.

Will frowned, rubbing at his arm, knocking George with his shoulder, leaning back in again. George felt his chest warm; he didn’t lean on him this time - didn’t realise he’d done it before, but it was nice. Will was calming, all reassuring and warm.

“You heard me Alex? You’re not even ten feet away, idiot. You heard me.” Will called out again. George just shook his head, adjusting the blanket still ruffled on their laps.

Alex laughed, “I don’t know mate, depends really - James would say we’re not…” He walked back in, his glass abandoned somewhere on the counter, “Suppose we are though, really.”

George looked at him as though he was seeing straight through him. It wasn’t so much of a surprise, all things considered. It was more the shock of it happening in front of his eyes.

The pure confusion that he’d missed it actually happening, that he’d been so out of it, consumed with his own loneliness, he hadn’t gathered his best friend had actually gone and gotten a boyfriend - of sorts.

“Oh,” Will said, speaking George’s thoughts. “That’s nice, mate.” Will smiled, fingers resting on George’s thigh, under the blanket, like it was something secret.

George shivered, pretending he was cold, nestling under the blanket. It was all fucked, he thought. He hadn’t been there while his mate had gotten himself a boyfriend, he was too consumed with himself - his emotions. It was like the world was shattering into pieces, continents parting, countries shifting, oceans collapsing. Everything falling into nothing while George watched.

“Yeah,” Alex hummed, sitting back on the floor, “S’nice, y’know?” He flicked through his phone, mindless in the background, “I just… like him, really.” Alex said, looking up, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, like it was the first time he’d said it out loud.

George smiled, muscles twitching in his cheeks, trying not to make it look forced, “I’m happy for you, Al.” Will squeezed his thigh, “Really, I am.”

Alex grinned, all teeth and happiness. “Yeah,” He said again, whispering under his breath, standing up again, “Sorry if I invaded, just a bit heady, s’been nice with James, lately.”

George opened his mouth, shutting it again within moments. Will frowned at him, looking up under furrowed eyebrows, speaking up for him instead, “Nah, no worries - just happy you’re happy…” Will trailed off, grinning at him. “S’good for the pair of you.”

“Sounding like we’re getting married,” Alex laughed, “It’s just… unspoken still, really, but it’s nice.”

George smiled, eventually leaning back into Will’s shoulder, acting something of a support, like he was anchoring him upright, keeping him to the shoreline so he didn’t drown.

“Me ‘nd George can share best man at the wedding though,” Will said, snorting. “‘Cos there will be one at some point.”

Alex blushed, laughing into his phone, blue lights radiating against his cheeks. “Shut up.”

George rested his head against Will’s shoulder, feeling him squeeze his leg again in return, fingers warm against his jeans.

“Right,” Alex said, standing up, breaking George out of a stream of thoughts, “Gonna head off to bed, now that I’ve disturbed you and all.” Alex grinned, ruffling George’s curls as he walked behind the sofa, “Night.”

“Night mate,” Will called, knowing George wasn’t gonna make a sound.

The silence rang through George’s ears, echoing through his body, thrumming energy underneath his skin. He didn’t know what was right and what was wrong, not anymore. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know what to do.

Will shuffled next to him, kicking his feet up, tucking the blanket back over them, smoothing out the creases with his spare hand. “You alright? Look a bit pale… It’s not Halloween yet, you’re a ghost a couple of months too early.”

George felt numb, he huffed a laugh, pretending. “Yeah.” He muttered, rubbing his nose against Will’s shirt. Will didn’t even flinch. “It’s just…”

“Yeah,” Will said, calming - reassuring. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Will sighed, “Dunno mate, just don’t like seeing you all wound up, like some fucking spinning top or something.” He pulled his hand away from his leg, tugging it over George’s shoulder instead, tying him to his side.

George felt something funny in his chest, “Oh,” he said, desperate, floundering. “I’m okay.”

Will gave him a look, “You’re not though, not really.”

“I’m not.” George agreed, words light, meaning heavy. “Just dunno what to do ‘bout it…” He trailed off, it was all jumbled, like a puzzle ready to be solved, like the pieces were strewn across the floor and he couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

“You jealous of Alex?” Will asked suddenly; he wasn’t prying, he was just asking. George felt his muscles tense.

“No,” he said, assured, “What do you mean?” George looked away, looked at the movie. He wished it could be all sunshine and pretty skies, something hopeless out of a rom-com.

“Just, the company of a relationship - I don’t know.” Will stumbled, fingers stroking George’s shoulder, all easy and reassuring, as if they were weightless.

George sighed, “That’s not it, no. It’s just… a fucking big thing, you know?”

Will tilted his head, looking at him, all cross-eyed. “What do you mean?”

George sighed, “It’s like… Alex’s gone and made James his fucking boyfriend, and it’s like… I had no idea - I thought they were just fucking around, you know? But it’s just like… it’s like a big thing, and I’ve been too out of it to realise.”

George feels the breath tight in his chest, something heavy pressing down on him like he held the universe on his shoulders, “It just… feels like I don’t know anything, not anymore.”

“You do,” Will responded, looking back at the TV. “You know who you are-”

“That’s the thing though, Will.” George kicked up his feet, “I don’t…”

Will squeezed him closer, “You know Alex and James - and now you know they’re together, or whatever they are.”

George sighed, letting Will take the weight of his head, his body curled up tight against his side.

“And you know me,” Will said, quiet like something of a whisper.

George looked up at him, catching the sight of his ear instead. He didn’t move, his chest was tight, the loneliness - if he could still call it that, he didn’t know anymore, was still heavy in his throat. It all pressed down on him like he had to hold it all up.

Will pulled him closer, “Turn the movie back on, yeah? Take your mind off it, I’m staying over - can sort it all out tomorrow… just, give this head of yours a rest for a bit, alright?” Will said, stroking his hair, fingers light like feathers before resting back on his shoulder.

George felt scared, like everything was changing under his feet. He didn’t fucking realise his own flatmate - his best friend, had gotten a boyfriend. He tensed his fists in his lap, the blanket creasing over his knees.

He rested his head against Will, letting his shoulders collapse down, pressure caving in. He let Will take his weight, sharing the warmth of the blanket, of skin. George sat, knees curled up, head resting, and he let Will take some of the weight off him.

Will found the remote under the blanket, fingers jabbing at the play button again before George could find the energy to think. “Yeah,” George said eventually, dim lights, colours flashing from the screen. He let Will hold him up, and let the movie take him away.

\--

The screen was a blur. Pictures moving, sounds blaring. George sat motionless; he was trying to edit. His focus had been lost hours ago. The clips didn’t fit, the order made no sense. He couldn’t find his usual effects, he’d already lost the gameplay. He wasn’t sure the point anymore.

He sat back, letting the video play without his consent. George leant his elbows on his desk, head in his hands. He tried to breathe, taking the time to remember what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what it was for. It was just, his head was full. He couldn’t juggle anything else.

Words were infinite and his head couldn’t patch them all together. Everything was sectioned into expressions and pictures and sounds and George couldn’t sew everything back together. He couldn’t make sense of it all.

He snapped forward, his fingers clicking before he could process what he was doing. He closed down the edit, fucking off his progress, before slamming the lid of his laptop. The sounds cut off abruptly, the silence weighing thick on George’s skull.

His brain was all tangled, like it was all stuck in knots. It was all Alex, and James, and the boy at the club - boys, at the club. And it was Will. It was everything crumbling underneath his fingertips.

It was like nothing made sense, none of the pieces added up. It was colours and moments and it was nothing George recognised.

He stood up, legs stumbling through his room, scuffing his toes against the floor. He leant against the wall, looked around at his room and felt empty. He heard Will outside, in the living room, sticking to his promise of staying the week. He’d only been there a day; he still had time to change his mind, George thought.

George sighed, thinking this all to shit. He blinked, thinking how things would be if he understood it all.

He shook his head, fading everything to the back of his mind, opening his door and pacing into the kitchen, Will’s voice loud from the sofa, he was in a meeting or something, George remembered. He softened his motions, reaching for a mug, flicking on the kettle.

He stood, waiting for it to boil, watching Will from the counter, feeling Will’s eyes on him in the lull of it. George turned around, back to the cupboard, and got out another mug.

He poured the tea, feeling like he was in a dream, like reality was lost on him. Then he took Will’s mug over to him, his chest warming with Will’s smile. George felt scared, like he didn’t know himself. It was constant, the thoughts.

“Five minutes left,” Will whispered, covering the microphone, “Come sit.” He patted the sofa next to him. George shrugged, thinking he should edit, thinking he should understand his head, but fetched his tea and sat down anyway.

Time passed slowly, George lost in his head, Will’s voice humming in the background. He thought he wasn’t lonely, not anymore. George supposed maybe it was just a guise, like he’d been living something of a lie, blaming something it wasn’t. Although maybe it was loneliness, the aching in his chest - or it used to be.

George thought maybe it wasn’t loneliness anymore, not when he was sat here with Will, feeling something warm. Or maybe it was just better now, now that he understood Alex, and now that he had Will. Either way, George thought, maybe that wasn’t the problem.

Even without the gaping hole inside of him, something confusing still tore at his organs, ripping them apart one by one. George didn’t understand it. It was all people and places and events he could barely string together. He thought maybe it wasn’t loneliness, but it was something else.

“Thanks, by the way.” Will muttered, covering the microphone again, smiling next to him, sipping at the cup before uncovering his phone and turning the charm back on.

George listened to him, watching him out of the corner of his eye, thinking he had it all pieced together, wishing maybe he could tell him how he’d done it.

He thought about Alex, and how he was happy he had James - properly now, for the most part. George supposed maybe it was never missing him, but it was life moving around him, leaving him behind.

He thought about Will, about him sat here with him, keeping him company when he didn’t have to. George thought maybe he liked it, having his presence. He didn’t know if it was something deeper, something about feeling safe and warm. But he liked it. He liked it.

And he thought about the boy - the boys, George supposed. He thought about their hair drenched in hairspray, jeans painted on slick with a brush, eyes shiny and limbs long. He thought about finding them pretty - both of them. The one Will pointed out, and the one he found on his own.

He put it down to appreciation, something like perusing an art gallery when you had no money to spend. George sighed, supposing he could put everything down to blame if he tried hard enough.

He thought about the boy - the boys. And he thought about finding them pretty. And he thought he couldn’t breathe.

“You alright then?” Will said, breaking George out of his head, “Sorry - just finished the call, something ‘bout merch, a new company or something… you alright?”

George looked at him, feeling like he was looking through a kaleidoscope, all sparkly and warm. “Yeah, sorry if I interrupted-”

“Nah, you’re good, nice entertainment, watching you scurry ‘round the kitchen while I try and sort out my career.” Will laughed, “But no it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

George smiled, drinking his tea, burning his throat. “Thanks,” he said softly, burying the noise into the mug.

He watched Will shuffle around, sorting out cables and headphones, shoving his laptop on the coffee table and his phone in his pocket. George thought he was leaving before he spoke up again.

“Anything you wanna listen to or…” Will asked, scrolling through his laptop, “Gonna sit for a bit then try and edit, you think Alex’ll mind if I use his room? He’s got a nice desk and all.”

“Use mine,” George said, “Can’t edit now anyway, my head’s a bit… y’know,” he trailed off, squirming under Will’s frown.

“Can’t edit?” Will repeated, “Anything happen or just…”

“Just everything, lot on my mind - you know that, you’ve gotten the brunt of it, sorry.”

“Fuck off, it’s fine. I enjoy listening to George Memeulous whine as much as the next person does.” Will tried to smile, “Anyway, well comfy sofa this, ours is done for, something ‘bout the springs and all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded, “Anyway, don’t wanna steal your room though, if you did wanna edit.”

George looked up, looked over to his door, “Nah, go for it. I’ll get my laptop out, don’t really need a desk to edit, unlike you.”

“I have a routine, George!” Will protested, hands waving. “Shut up.”

George laughed, feeling something light in his chest, like some of the pressure had been lifted. “Put some music on then, idiot.”

“I’m doing it, calm down.” Will said, sitting forward, shoving on something loud.

George made a face, “No fuck off, it’s 3pm - we’re not in a fucking club.” George leant forward, batting Will’s hands away from his laptop.

“I asked if there was anything you wanted to listen to!” Will groaned, “You said no.”

“Yeah, well…” George said, shuffling through something softer. “Changed my mind.” He put on something quieter, more atmosphere, less bass.

“This is shit, George mate,” Will complained, hands gesturing towards the laptop from the other end of the sofa.

George sighed, rolling his eyes, “Fuck off, just deal with it. I’m delicate right now.”

Will softened, shoulders slouching. George felt bad; he didn’t mean it really, although it was true. He didn’t want to weigh Will down with it all, he could barely add up his emotions without adding Will to the matter.

“Wanna talk about it?” Will asked, putting his mug down, just the dregs at the bottom left.

George drained the rest of his, matching Will leaving a drop at the end. “Dunno really, it’s just a lot in my head.”

“Still lonely?” Will asked, words gentle.

“Don’t think that’s the problem,” George sat back, trying to uncoil his muscles, “Not anymore, at least… I just, don’t know what’s making me feel like this.”

Will tilted his head, “What’s in that head of yours then, if you don’t know?”

“Everything.” George whined, trailing off into silence, letting Will watch him with his narrowed eyes. George focusing on the daylight instead, darker, now that it was the afternoon, the blue skies fading into something grey, stealing the light from the window.

Will hummed, words lost. George didn’t mind, he just wanted his company, in the end.

It all spun around his head though: Alex, Will, the boy - boys. It bothered him, that he couldn’t let it go. His head snapped into gear, something clicking, something desperate in his chest that took over.

“Will?” He asked, fingers curled tight into fists.

“Yeah?”

“You know the lad at the club, when you came and found me?” George started, throat wobbling, words spat into the air, “The one you found pretty?”

Will narrowed his eyes, “Yeah?”

“Are you gay?” George asked suddenly, looking out of the window, looking into a world that didn’t feel his own. He looked out, watched the clouds stream past, thinking the world outside of his flat didn’t exist, like it all stopped and started at the doorway.

Will didn’t say anything. George left the silence alone, refusing to break it. He tried to look for shapes - for answers, in the clouds.

“Dunno, really.” Will said in the end, “Suppose I’m not gay, not really. Just - don’t think I’m a hundred per cent straight either, y’know?”

George felt the sun fall out of the sky, “Oh,” he said, the breath stolen from his chest, “Somewhere in the middle, then?”

Will hummed, tilting his head, eyes stuck on George’s form, “I guess so, if you wanna call it that. I guess I’m just… just open, really. Like, the bloke we saw was gorgeous - objectively so, as well as, y’know, attractive I suppose.”

“Yeah?”

Will nodded, George caught it out the corner of his eye, focusing instead on the white shapes falling through the air, all light and delicate.

“I think like, I suppose I thought he was pretty the same way I think… I don’t know - some girl is pretty.” Will debated, his voice steady like he was telling a fairytale, “Guess it’s just… I’m open, that’s all it is really.”

“Oh,” George said again, frowning, fingertips grappling with information, his pupils searching for invisible colours in the air. “Open to finding someone pretty? Or is it more…” George trailed off, unable to find the words.

Will huffed something of a laugh, “Never fucked a bloke, if that’s what you’re asking-”

“No,” George spluttered, feeling something lighter in his chest, like it wasn’t all tense and desperate. “I just meant like… boys…” He trailed off again, looking down at his lap, looking at his fists, bending his wrists, stretching his fingers.

“Yeah,” Will agreed, all hazy and unspoken, “Guess so.”

“You would then?” George finally asked, words forming, choking him in his throat.

“Yeah,” Will nodded. George finally met his eyes, feeling something burning at the back of Will’s, like he wanted to dig George out of something impossible. He looked away, sat back, eyes glued to his fists.

“Oh,” George said again, “Is it that… easy?” He stuttered, “How is it that simple?”

“Suppose it just is, y’know.” Will shuffled against the sofa, the blanket tossed between them, “I’m just open to it, wouldn’t really oppose a bloke, if I fancied one.”

“But - how do you know you fancy one…” George asked, his voice delicate, his words trampling over something pretty; George wondered if he was stamping it all to shreds. “You know? Like, how do you reason that?”

“Dunno, George.” Will sighed, “It’s just… it’s just how it is, really. I don’t have all the answers.”

George sat back, the words punching even though they were spoken with care. It was all too much, heaviness pressing down on him. The world how he knew it was in shreds, like it’d been torn up in a shredder.

He didn't understand how it could be that easy. He felt his fists heavy in his lap, his body distanced like nothing was his own, like he was in someone else's flat, like Will was looking at a ghost the other end of the sofa.

“Yeah,” George said, all quiet like he was scratching at the word to come out, like he had to form it with a magnetic alphabet before he spoke. “Yeah,” he said again, shaking his head.

“It’s alright, you know.” Will said, like he understood. George felt terrified, like he’d been caught in the spotlights, stage lights neon against his pale skin, flashing something ghostly against the screens.

“Yeah,” George agreed, even though it wasn’t, He knew it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if anything was going to be the same again, he wasn’t sure how it was going to be, but it was changing, everything morphing into something new, something scary. Something he didn’t understand.

George sat up straight, his fists still clenched, “I’m gonna get more tea - go to Tesco’s or something, maybe Sainsbury’s ‘cos it’s closer. Use my room if you want… the desk, and all…” George trailed off, rambling like he was trying to pretend nothing ever happened, like words were never spoken at all.

“George…” Will said, like he was trying to grasp at something, cling on.

George ignored it, standing it, “We’re low on tea, I’m gonna get some more… don’t wanna wake up and not have a cup of tea. It’s tea, Will.” He walked around aimlessly, trying to find a hoodie and some shoes.

“Alright,” Will whispered gently, like he didn’t want to break George’s spirit. George frowned, thinking he’d fucked it all.

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling on some trainers, running fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna get some tea,” George said again, standing upright, checking he had money before pacing around the doorway, “You alright here? Can use my desk, like I said.”

“Yeah,” Will said, lost. George tried to smile, pretend it all okay. “Thanks.”

George waved his arms around, grabbing his keys, wasting time, “Alright… gonna go, get some tea… I’ll be back later.”

He looked at Will, watched him eye him up, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed; George shook his head, desperation clawing at his throat, and he shut the door.

\--

It was half two in the morning; George was somewhere between drunk and hungover, the alcohol wearing off slowly, dragging a sense of fantasy away with it. He’d gone to Tesco in the end, taking the extra ten minutes on the tube to figure his head out, picking up the tea he liked, as well as the tea Will liked. Then he’d picked up some alcohol, a big bottle of gin and one of vodka.

George walked home slowly, feet dragging on the concrete. He supposed he needed to get away, get out of his head, for a little while. He started on the vodka once he’d gotten home, starting with mixers and moving onto shots. His head was spinning by eleven; his feet dragging by midnight.

He’d been on the sofa all night while Will edited, taking up on the offer to use his desk in the end. George liked knowing he was there, that someone was with him, that he wasn’t completely trapped in his own head. He didn’t like empty walls, all cold with magnolia. He liked Will, being there.

Will had come to see him around one, once he’d finished his video. They’d had a chat for a while, Will’s shoulders slumping when he saw George bought his favourite tea, George’s cheeks warming at the sight. They’d discussed James and Alex, eventually Will messaged Alex to see if he was coming home or not - so they could expect him, but also so Will knew if he could steal Alex’s bed for the night.

In the end, when Alex didn’t reply, Will stole the bed anyway, shoving the duvet on the floor, replacing the pillow with his own, telling George it was ‘homely’, and tossing the blanket over the mattress instead. His eyes were half shut before he’d even shut the door. George rolled his eyes, already drunk, glad Will didn’t hate him for their earlier conversation, or for walking out.

George headed to bed after that. He waited for Will to stop shuffling around Alex’s room, until the silence rang clear, then turned off the lights and scurried the glass bottles and some Coke into his room.

Time had passed by in a haze, George barely remembering what he’d done besides finish off half a bottle of vodka.

He was on his laptop now, fucking around with save files he shouldn’t be. George had tried to finish editing, Will’s mouse and cables tossed across his desk reminding him he should finish the video. But his head wasn’t there - especially after the alcohol.

He sighed, thinking himself useless, shutting down file explorer, opening a new tab instead. George stared emptily against the screen, the lights in his room dim against the vivid look of his laptop. He tapped his fingers against the desk, eyes wandering around his room.

He ended up winding up Will’s mouse and cables, setting them by the side of his desk for him in something of a neat pile. George smiled, tilting his head, thinking he was more hungover than drunk by this point, the headache brewing through his skull an example of such.

George looked around, thinking maybe if he’s so set on tidying up he should move his clothes off the floor, but he didn’t move. He just looked at Will’s mouse coiled tightly and thought that was good enough, for tonight at least. Maybe he’d tidy tomorrow, he thought, staring blankly at the computer screen.

He sighed, feeling bored, feeling useless. He felt all pent up - the chat with Will on his mind, the idea of it being that easy, that simple. George couldn’t fathom it, something like that being so uncomplicated. He shook his head, thinking the weight in his chest was supposed to have gone by now.

It was like there were firecrackers in his lungs, bouncing sparks through his blood, blocking off his airways. It was all consuming, the energy of it all. George sighed again, his feet restless against the floor. He sighed, tapping his fingers against the keys, breath stuck in his throat as search results filled the screen.

He opened Pornhub, shrugging, his muscles tense and his limbs restless, shuffling against his chair. He clicked around mindlessly, fucking around until he felt his cock twitching between his legs. George clicked on a video; it was some ten-minute thing with a fit pretty brunette in the thumbnail, he thought it good, like he could get his mind to shut up.

A few minutes in, George thumbed at his waistband, his fingers dancing across fabric before he could process his next move. He dragged the material down, spitting into his hand and grasping at his cock. He groaned, muffling it with his other hand, cautious and wary.

George grabbed at the chair, nails clinging to hold a grip on the moment, his other hand tight in a fist, tugging himself off, stroking down his length, toying with the head. His hips pushed up into his palm, his thighs tensing, his body high with uncontrollable energy. He slouched against the back of the chair, shoulders curling in, body tense, muscles aching.

He tilted his head, looking at his laptop, watching the girl get fucked; she was bent over some table, some broad-shouldered man in the background fucking into her, holding her up, jolting her with jerky motions, all stiff and jilted. George stifled a moan, eyes glossing over the video, blinking heavily, his body feeling infinite.

He looked at the man, all muscles with hands everywhere, warm skin tinted with heat. George looked at his cock, looked at him fucking her, all hard with his hands prising her open. He looked at him. George could barely think straight, something ticking through his head like a metronome, a constant hum through his skull, vibrating until he couldn’t sense anything other than his hand and the sounds.

His hips fucked up into his fist, trying to imagine fucking into the girl - any girl, fucking into some pretty thing with soft moans. But instead, he thought about the man's hands, he thought about the way he was holding her, stopping her from moving. He thought about his ruffled hair, his shirt tucked up. He thought about him.

George moaned, head tossing against nothing, everything fading out into something white and biblical as he came into his fist, white streaks over his knuckles as everything came into focus.

He unravelled the wrinkles around his eyes as he unclenched his eyelids, doing the same with his arms and legs and chest, until suddenly he could breathe, suddenly everything was bright and real and tangible.

George clenched his fists, breath raised in his throat like he was going to throw up. He shut the laptop lid harshly, like it’d done something wrong. The sound clicked off, the room went dark. The world stood still, as if he was landing back on earth, like he’d descended and was floating back down to reality.

His head spun and his body ached - ached for something familiar, for something reassuring, something that’d make all of this go away. George sat there, restless again, like nothing had changed besides everything. His fists were heavy on his thighs, like they were punching through flesh and into bone.

It felt like something inside him had clicked, like everything was slotting together inside this galaxy in between the bones of his skull. It was uncontrollable, unstoppable. George let it happen, his body weak and his senses worn down. He thought he should go and wash his fist but he couldn’t move.

George looked up; he looked around, properly, without the rosy colour of the alcohol, without the lust and the warmth. He didn’t recognise the room, he thought the possessions were his, but it wasn’t his room. This wasn’t him, it wasn’t him sat there, looking up at a blank wall. It wasn’t him inside his head, it was something of an intruder, someone twisting his feelings into knots, fucking with his thoughts until he couldn’t see straight.

He looked around, thinking maybe it was the same, maybe he was tired and drunk - hungover, or something, and thought maybe nothing had changed at all. He clung to the idea like something raw and desperate, like the whole world was shifting and he couldn’t stop it.

He felt like he was falling through the vinyl, like his soul was slipping through the cracks in the lining, his bones heavy in a pile beneath his chest. George didn’t feel like himself, he didn’t feel like anything.

He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping himself into a ball, trying to believe he was the same, like nothing had changed, like he was the same - like nothing had changed. George sat there, desperate, convincing himself nothing had changed, when instead nothing was the same at all.

\--

George woke up slowly, everything hazy, the lines between sleep and consciousness blurred, crossing like nothing had boundaries anymore. He blinked against the air, rubbing at his eyes, knees tucked up to his chest, poking out under the duvet.

He sighed shakily, all rough and breathless. It all flooded back, his eyes clenched shut, pictures and painful truths slipping through the cracks, spilling into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his head pounding through the blur - the vodka, he thought slowly, trying to sit up.

It was all blurred lights and double vision when George clicked on his phone, ignoring the notifications, forgetting his purpose, just wanting a distraction. He couldn’t breathe, he thought again, opening Twitter. He clicked back to the home screen. He thought his head might fall off, he was that dizzy; he opened Instagram. He rubbed his eyes, clicking his phone back off, the screen fading to black.

He dropped his phone to the mattress, feeling the life drain out of his fingertips as it fell against the sheets. George clenched his fists, thinking he’d made a mistake, that he’d made it all wrong. He refused to open his eyes, tossing around the bed in something like confusion, something like regret.

He didn’t get it. Any of it. George stood up abruptly, head spinning, twisting like a loose screw. He looked around, everything blurred - dizzy. He staggered to the bathroom, it wasn’t the alcohol making his movements stiff, but he wanted to blame something other than himself.

George sat on his knees, clinging to the porcelain, hoping an excuse for feeling like this - doing what he did would come. It didn’t. He stood up, flushing the empty bowl, washing his hands like a routine before leaning against the wall.

It was all fucked, he thought slowly. He thought it all fucked. George slouched against the door, all heavy and loose, feeling something abstract, like he was shapes and colours and nothing else. He wished he could understand. He wished it could be that easy.

A knock on the wood vibrated through George’s ears, dragging him out of it all, tugging him back into reality, forcing him to face a world that wasn’t the same.

“Uh…” Will stuttered, voice slurred, sounding half-asleep, “You alright? I dunno if you’ve thrown up or not… you drank a lot last night, so I’ve got some water here if you want it.”

George breathed, feeling his chest go up and down, trying to force himself to feel alive. “Sorry, do you want the bathroom?” George asked, his voice off, his mood twisted; everything felt wrong, like he was an imposter in his own house.

“Oh - no,” Will huffed, voice seeping something soothing through the wood of the door, “Just heard you move around, didn’t know if you were ill, or whatever-”

“Oh,” George said slowly, rubbing his eyes, steadying himself against the sink, looking down at his feet, socks all bobbly. He thought he should buy some more. “Sorry, I’m okay.” George took a deep breath, looking up, at the doorway, all white and mocking, before opening it.

“Oh, hi,” Will laughed, stumbling back, “Did you want the water?”

George frowned, suddenly remembering the point of it all, “Thanks,” he said slowly, syllables tangled in his throat.

“No worries,” Will smiled through furrowed eyebrows, “You okay then mate? Look a bit… rough, if I dare say.”

George laughed in self-pity, “Yeah, could say that… let’s blame it on a late night.”

Will frowned, “You’re sure?” he gave him a once over, nodding as if he was confirming he could stand on two feet, before heading to turn the kettle on.

George sighed, “Yeah… it’s just-”

“George, if you tell me you’re lonely again, I might have to throttle you-”

George spluttered, hands clinging to the doorframe to steady his knees, “No, I’m not lonely - I don’t think… thank you.”

Will’s face softened. George turned away. “Good, didn’t really wanna throttle you anyway, bit mean that,” Will said gently.

“Yeah, threatening to throttle someone - you could call that mean, really.” George tried to laugh, the sounds bouncing off his tongue, something familiar but so different - foreign.

“Shut up,” Will laughed. George looked back, smiling with his lips tilted up. He watched Will stumble around the kitchen, an old hoodie and pyjama bottoms slung around his form. Will picked up the usual box of tea - George’s type, before putting it down again delicately, picking up the box George bought for him instead.

George felt heady, like the world was closing in, like it was just him and Will in this tiny apartment during the apocalypse. George sighed, shaking his head. He watched Will pour the kettle, agonisingly slowly. George wished he’d hurry up, everything feeling like it needed to be in harsh rough motions, like he needed something cruel and real to snap him out of it.

Nothing was like that with Will, though. It was all soft glances and little smiles - stupid conversations, kicking each other with their toes. George couldn’t breathe. His chest felt heavy, barbed wire wrapped around his veins - harsh, rough. He wished it was enough to snap him out of it.

“You want a cup?” Will called, “‘Cos the kettle’s still boiled and all - would’ve made you one but didn’t wanna make you feel more sick, y’know…”

“I wasn’t sick,” George felt the need to clarify, Will looked up, meeting his eyes. George looked away. “But yeah, please. Make us one too.”

George dragged his feet back to his bedroom, looking from the doorway like nothing made sense anymore. He tugged on some joggers, a different hoodie - trying to feel like himself, like something he recognised. Instead, he looked in the mirror and saw a duplicate.

He stumbled back into the kitchen, robotic as he sat on the sofa, knees tucked under his thighs, looking around the flat, feeling warm, reflections against the magnolia, echoes of the kettle. It was warm. George saw through the door to Alex’s room, the bed all made up neatly like Will was never there - his only traces the clothes sprawled on the floor and the blanket and pillow at the toe of the bed.

George supposed maybe he would leave, now that George wasn’t lonely anymore. He felt sick at the concept; he supposed he’d rather gotten used to all this.

“Here,” Will said, thrusting a mug into George’s fists. “Drink up.”

George tried a smile, eyes following as Will’s body fell limp beside him, “Thanks,” George whispered, sounds reverberating against the cup.

Will hummed, sipping at his tea, pulling out his phone. George watched him type something to James, before heading to Instagram.

“That’s pretty,” George said, spare hand pointing to a picture; it was something of a sunset, all crimsons and pinks, all hazy like the world was never stopping. “Nice, that is.” George said again, once Will had focused the picture still.

“Yeah?” Will asked, tilting his head, drinking his tea, “Looks a bit - dainty… if I’m gonna look at the sun, I want it to look like the world is ending.”

“Oh - bit grim, don’t you think?” George snorted.

Will just laughed, “I didn’t mean it like that, just wanna look at it and think oh that’s something special - not just some sunset you get over the Themes that’s been filtered beyond its life expectancy, y’know?”

George looked at him, “Yeah, expert of sunsets, you are.” He laughed, turning back to his mug, “I’ll keep that in mind.

Will just hummed, fingers tapping at the screen. George let his mind wander, thinking about sunsets, about pretty skies, about the world outside of this flat. He thought it terrifying, if he dwelled on it for too long.

“She’s pretty,” George perked up, snapping himself out of it, pointing to the screen again. It felt forced, like he was trying too hard, but at least it was something, George thought. He finished his mug, keeping the dregs and shoving the cup on the floor, sitting back up to watch Will tilting his head at his phone.

“You think?” Will said, frowning, furrowing his eyebrows, “Not another e-girl George-”

“No - it’s just, she’s pretty - objectively.” George stumbled, fingers itching in his lap, his presence feeling empty - lost, like he didn’t know anything anymore, he supposed he didn’t, not really.

Will gave him a look out of the corner of his eye; George didn’t speak. “Yeah?” He asked, all delicate. George suddenly thought of the club, thought of the boy, thought of Will over his shoulder, calling him pretty, George agreeing reluctantly, George agreeing truthfully.

“Yeah,” George trailed off, barely even remembering what the girl looked like after Will had flicked the screen down, moving on without a trace.

Will turned his phone off, snapping George out of the reverie of it all. He looked up at him, finishing off his tea, “You had any plans today?” Will asked, standing to his feet, dragging both their mugs to the kitchen.

George sighed, moving with him, standing and stretching, watching Will move around the flat like he lived there. “Nah… should really finish the video it’s just… not really in the mood.”

Will looked up, tilting his head from the dishwasher, “That’s not like you,” Will said, mumbling under his voice something George didn’t hear, “Are you alright?”

George felt his shoulders slump, water levels rising up to his neck, drowning in something he could barely understand, “Yeah… just a lot on my mind.” George shuffled, leaning against the counter, looking out of the window, blue skies daunting, teasing him. “Can’t really focus lately.”

Will closed the dishwasher, turning away to rinse his hands, “Wanna go somewhere?” He wiped his hands on his jeans, George didn’t move to fetch him a towel, he supposed he should’ve, really. “Get your head away for a bit - been fucking stuck in this flat long enough anyway, both of us.”

George frowned, looking at him as he turned around, “Do you not have plans then?”

Will shook his head, “Nah, finished the video yesterday, the meeting went well and all - just need them to send me everything ready before I phone anyone else… and I can start scripting another video tomorrow, so I’ve not got anything, not important anyway.”

George blinked, unbelieving, “Do you not wanna go back home if you’ve got nothing on?”

“Why?” Will asked, sitting up on the counter, “Did you want me to-”

“No,” George said quickly, “Just… didn’t wanna keep you, if you wanted to do something, y’know, without me.”

Will snorted, “Nah, there’s this club thing Monday, but ‘till then there’s nothing I’ve got on… and considering you’ve stocked up on tea for me, I don’t have to go there either-”

“Should’ve made you pay for that,” George huffed, laughing under his breath. “You’ve got a fucking expensive taste in tea, idiot.”

“Yeah, George - two quid for a box of tea is really pushing the boat out… maybe you’re just cheap.” Will grinned, swinging his legs against the cupboards, looking free. “Anyway, wanna go out?”

George sighed, “I’m not clubbing, if that’s what you mean-”

“No,” Will shook his head, looking up, “Just… the park, or something. Y’know, get away, some fresh air and all.”

George didn’t know what to say, he stared out the window, looking at the sky, thinking the blues were too clear - no depth. He thought about Instagram, all pretty colours, something like chaos, even if Will thought it delicate.

“We could just open the window instead,” George suggested, his voice meek to his own ears. He continued looking out the window, watching birds diving across the road, cars stuck in traffic, the constant movement, the hum of it all.

Will sighed, “Shut up, no we can’t… We don’t have to, if you don’t wanna, just - should probably leave the house at some point, mate.”

“I left the house yesterday,” George protested, spying Will shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. George frowned. “Walked all the way off the tube, to Tesco’s, around Tesco’s, then back on the tube.”

“That’s not-”

“Alright,” George said, all quiet, “Where we gonna go then?” George looked at Will, trying to smile, trying to force himself back into reality, trying to feel something familiar, trying to let Will drag something human out of him.

“Yeah?” Will asked gently, like it was something more. George felt his bones vibrate under his skin. “I’ll find us somewhere, you go get a different jumper-”

“I just changed,” George frowned, looking down, fingers tugging at the strings. “This is new…”

Will looked at him, tilting his head, “There’s a stain there, George mate.” He jumped off the counter, pacing towards him, footsteps quiet, “There,” Will said, pointing at his chest.

George looked down, frowning, “Oh,” he said, a discoloured patch stationary under Will’s fingertip.

“Go change,” Will said softly, smiling when George looked up. George felt something delicate snap inside of his chest. “I’ll find us somewhere green.”

“Okay,” George whispered, watching Will move away, grabbing his phone and typing something in. George stared, immobile for a minute, trying to snap himself out of it, make his legs move, fall back into something real.

He felt lost, stumbling back into his room, searching for a different hoodie, finding his wallet and his keys, finding his phone. George found Will back in the doorway, somewhere on Google Maps loaded up, smile bright on his face.

George followed him out the door, locking it behind him, trainers dragging on his heels, watching Will’s hair bounce out of his cap as he tried to tuck it back, climbing down the stairs of the tower. He felt something like Rapunzel, escaping from something he was trapped in, his soul trapped in clothing that didn’t feel his own.

It was scary, something about being outside, being part of it - being in the world. George looked up when they were finally outside, birds noisy, clouds floating, the world moving, when he stood still.

“George?” Will asked, a few metres in front, “You coming?” Will looked back, jeans ripped at the knees, shirt long down his wrists, eyes bright. He looked at him curious, like he wanted to tear him down to his soul. George shivered, feeling cold in the heat of the sun.

“Yeah,” He said, feeling something warm in his chest, something calm through his veins. George looked up, smiling at the sun, terrified, but trying, and followed Will.

\--

“Here,” Will said, drawing to stop, “Found something green.”

“It’s a field,” George stated, frowning, looking at Will through his eyelashes, “Why have we travelled an hour for a field.”

“‘Cos it’s green,” Will snorted, “And there’s a park ‘round there… We should’ve brought a picnic.”

George laughed, “As if either of us are gonna sit and have a picnic-”

“Shut up, it would’ve been nice… sandwiches, crisps - you would’ve liked it, idiot.” Will protested, hands gesturing around, trees all bushy, grass overgrown, staining George’s trainers.

George thought it pretty, really. It was something settled, like it was all infinite and restful. George felt something buzzing under his skin, something of a contradiction, although he was trying. His breath all rough in his throat, soothing out into oxygen in his lungs.

His head pounded - the last traces of the hangover wearing away. George looked around, thinking maybe he needed to get out, escape from his head for a bit. It wasn’t like the thoughts had stopped, it was just that they’d been pushed aside, given a break, let George rest, for a little while.

“Yeah,” George said, taking the lead, walking forward, stumbling through grass and reeds, daisies crushed under the soles of his shoes. “Nice, this is.”

“Yeah?” Will called, catching up to him, walking next to him, wandering somewhere unknown. “Google said it was nice, so…”

“Google was right, then.” George snorted, laughing at Will as he frowned.

“Excuse me,” Will begun, “I was the one that chose it, not Google-”

“You wouldn’t have if Google hadn’t called it nice or whatever,” George stumbled forward, losing himself in the air, the lightness of it holding him up.

“Yeah,” Will agreed quietly, “Shut up.”

They walked for a minute, all greens and blues merging. George thought it weird to have something like this in London, although he supposed the length of time they were travelling, Will could’ve taken them anywhere.

George kicked at some stones, the grass fading into dirt, all dusty in the sun. He didn’t understand it, the tugging in his chest. He supposed he didn’t have to, there, at that moment.

“Has Alex gone to James’ mum’s yet?” George asked eventually, standing still in the middle of something boundless. “I don’t remember when he said he was going.”

Will hummed, sitting down, sprawling his limbs out across the grass, “Think so… I think he said Thursday he was going, and it’s Friday today.” He propped his head up with his hands, closing his eyes under the sun.

George nodded, knowing Will couldn’t see him. He stood there, looking around, smiling. “Yeah, I’ll text him later, hope he has a good week, and all.”

“Yeah?”

George nodded again, smiling as he sat down next to Will’s shoes, cross-legged in the grass. His fingertips ran along the reeds, plucking at the strands. It was like he’d entered another world - something so far away from city lights and sirens and the echoes of his head.

He could still hear it all - the cars, the alarms, the city, but it was further away, like they’d stepped outside of it, into a bubble of something. George held some grass in his hands, feeling like a child again on Sports Day, picking at something green, waiting for something to happen.

He sighed, all warm, the grass falling against his jeans, across his hoodie. He plucked his phone out of his pocket, opening Alex’s contact, staring at the numbers across the screen, everything dancing, filling George’s vision with something impossible.

“We’re gonna get muddy here, y’know?” Will spoke up, words soft, in tune with the birds.

“Yeah,” George agreed, nodding, “That’s alright.” He smiled, looking at Will, peeking open an eye to look at George under the sun.

“S’long as I can use your washing machine, I’m not going home to clean my jeans.” Will huffed, pouting as he shut his eyes again, kicking his feet out.

George laughed, all simple and easy, “Yeah… whatever. But if you use all my detergent or whatever it is then you’re buying me more-”

“Fuck off,” Will whined, “You’d end up buying more anyway.”

George kicked his foot, smiling “Shut up… you’re paying if you finish it.”

“Nah, I’ll buy us dinner tonight - call it even.”

George looked up from his phone, looked at Will, his cap falling off his head as he lay, cushioned by the grass. “Yeah?” George asked, feeling something spinning in his head.

“Yeah,” Will nodded, cheeks warm, lips turned up.

George smiled, warm from something other than the sun. He looked back at his phone, opening his messages with Alex before he could think about it anymore.

George: assume ur with james mum n all mate, hope u have fun, sorry bout my moods

George: just been off lately

George: hope u have a nice trip tho

George: serious if ur staying with his family lol

George: xxx

George sat back, looking at Will, thinking he looked good there, like he belonged. Part of George thought he never wanted to leave. His phone vibrated before he could seriously consider it.

Alex: shut up

Alex: just had a chat with his mum

Alex: she told me she knows i like him

Alex: ive not even told james i Like him

George snorted, Will opened his eyes, “Is that Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him I said hi, and to use condoms.” Will grinned, all toothy and warm.

“Fuck off,” George said, and typed it out anyway.

George: lmao good luck with that

George: will says to use condoms

George: he said hi too but that was less important

Alex: great

Alex: why are will n james’ mum talking to me more about my relationship than james does

George: just fucking talk to him then mate

George: if hes bumming u hes not exactly gonna be like lol off i go at the first sign of something thats not another cock

Alex: george please shut up

George snorted, “He thinks James is gonna bog off if he talks to him about emotions - or condoms, but I think he means emotions…”

Will sat up, “If he’s only just talking about condoms I’m scared, George.”

“Shut up,” George blushed, “He means emotions,” he said half-heartedly, only mostly sure himself. It all got a bit confusing.

Alex: just dont wanna make him confront something hes not ready for

George: if hes asked u to stay with him at his family home and ur still concerned then idk what to tell u mate

Alex: yeah

Alex: gonna go james just came back

Alex: glad wills with u tho xx

George: talk to him u dipshit x

“Yeah, he means emotions,” George confirmed, putting his phone in his lap. “Scared James is gonna run off, or something-”

“Really? Would’ve thought that if he’s invited him to his fucking mum’s house, that’d be clear enough.”

“Yeah,” George nodded, “I said that.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed, brushing the back of his hoodie now that he’d sat up properly, legs kicked out in front still, nudging at George’s legs, “What do you think ‘bout them, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just - you’re alright with it? You looked a bit, I don’t know… shaken, when Alex got back, the other night.” Will said gently, words light against the breeze.

George hummed, “Nah, happy for them - just didn’t expect it… no actually, I did expect it, I just didn’t think it was happening and I was completely consumed and didn’t notice, you know?”

Will made a face, “Yeah… I didn’t know either - suppose I’m glad we’ve not been hearing ‘bout their sex lives for weeks-”

“That’s true,” George interrupted, looking down at his lap, picking some more grass.

“Yeah,” Will nodded, “It’s alright to feel all… y’know, whatever, about it.”

“I’m alright, Will.” George smiled, “I’m good, here. And Alex is good there, and I’m sure we’ve got lots of chances to hear about their fucking rampant sex life-”

“Not sure that’s a good thing, mate.” Will laughed, sighing before he kicked his feet under his knees, dragging himself upright. “Come on then, let’s find this fucking park.”

Will held out his hands, George looked up at him wearily, all confused before he finally got it. He grabbed onto his wrists, tugging himself upright, brushing the grass off his jeans, tucking a loose daisy into his pocket, feeling warm as he looked at Will.

“Which way then?”

Will looked around, tilting his head, looking at the trees, the birds, the people humming around who George hadn’t noticed earlier. “Haven’t got a clue.”

“You’re the one who brought us here-”

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it,” Will protested, gesturing as he got his phone out, “It doesn’t give me directions to the park - it just says this is the fucking park.”

“I don’t wanna break your bubble here, Will… but this isn’t a park.”

“No, I know that.” Will raised his eyebrows, “Thank you for that valuable clarification.”

“Very welcome,” George snorted, looking around, starting to walk off.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Will called after him. George heard footsteps behind him catching up.

George looked at him, “You didn’t know where we were going, so… guess we’ll find it eventually - you said you had no plans, right?”

Will was silent for a moment, toes walking in symmetry, “Alright then. Says it’s around here somewhere, anyway.”

George smiled, feet moving, brushing against the grass. They walked through something grassy, something muddy, before finally hitting concrete again. It was all warm, sunkissed and bright with reflections. George’s legs were moving on impulse, feeling something endless in front of him, feeling free, for a change.

George kicked his feet along the floor, smiling at his shoes, all stained mossy on the soles, the toes brown with something dusty and brown. He smiled, thinking it was real. He listened to Will as they walked - nattering on about Youtube, statistics, or ideas, he couldn’t really remember. He just heard the syllables blending, his tone gentle and soft in the air. It was all nice, George thought he liked it, this simple.

“Oh,” Will said, interrupting himself, “That looks like a park.”

George looked over where he was pointing, seeing a gate, a set of swings, and one of those animals you sat on - this one was a pig, a pig with wings, specifically. George looked, and he smiled.

“Gonna be honest, Will,” George said, looking at him from the corner of his eyes, “This doesn’t look like the best park.”

“Shut up - I wasn’t gonna push you down the slide anyway.” Will protested, pouting himself at the display of it all.

“Went from a pretty field to this-”

“Can go back to the field, if you want.” Will offered; George considered it, shaking his head in the end, thinking this all out of the realm of possibility anyway.

“This is fine,” George smiled, walking ahead, stepping over something overgrown and spiky, “Be careful,” he said, all soft as he opened the gate and headed for the swing.

“Sure you don’t wanna sit on the pig?” Will laughed, coming up behind him.

“Think I’m alright, thank you, Will.” George shook his head, raising his eyebrows at Will as he sat on the swing, fingertips clinging to the chains, feeling like he was fourteen in a skate park again, cigarettes crushed against the floor, smoke in the air.

This was different, George thought - to anything. He thought it nothing like his childhood, nothing like the skate parks and cigarettes, he thought it nothing like London, if he really thought about it. He thought it nothing like home, but he liked it. It felt like he could be no one, and it wouldn’t matter.

He thought that maybe everything in his head was driving him insane. He liked the life in it all - the greens and the colours, something different to the greys. It felt full when George felt lifeless. He tried to drain it all, consume the feeling, bottle it like he wasn’t going to get it again.

He supposed maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this was it, and tomorrow it’d be back to wondering who he was, sat in his bed with his head in his hands, or maybe it’d be something more. George shook his head, thinking it didn’t matter either way.

George looked at the sky, the clouds and the branches blurring the blues. He liked it, he thought maybe it wasn’t as simple as this, but maybe it could be. He shook his head again, wincing at the thought of it. He couldn’t face it - not yet, he needed the space, the allowance and time to feel like nobody, before he could figure out who he was.

“Will,” He called instead, “Come push me.” George kicked out his feet, fingertips linked with the chains, all tight clenched in fists, the sleeves of his hoodie tangled somewhere in the mix.

Will looked at him from the mechanical pig, “You want me to?” Will made a face, something soft with quiet curiosity.

“Yeah,” George whispered, losing the sound to the wind. Will moved anyway, tucking his phone in his pocket.

“Ready?” Will asked, coming to rest his hands above George’s on the chains. George felt his body curl inside himself. Will tugged the swing back, all gentle, “3… 2… 1-”

“You don’t have to count down, you know.” George laughed when Will let go, letting him swing gently, hands resting on his shoulders as he pushed him again, “Fucking hell-”

Will laughed, all cackly and loud, piercing in the silence. George beamed, wind rushing through his hair, through his lungs - through the moment.

“Again,” George asked gently, “Come on.” George turned, looking at Will smiling, all shiny with his eyes.

“Alright then,” Will said, tugging him back, dragging at the chains. He let him go, swinging higher. George kicked his legs out, letting the motions take over his limbs, feeling his body weak in the frame.

Will laughed, coming to sit beside him, perched steady, his head rocking with George’s motions. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” George grinned, his legs pushing him up, his arms clinging tight, fingertips white with the pressure. He felt free - careless, like nothing else was really there, nothing else was really real.

It felt like he was on something like a pendulum, everything swinging in motions, everything confusing, no rights and wrongs, just ticking and time. George swung back and forth, his head and his soul, everything in between. He swung like it was easy - like it was simple.

“Yeah,” George repeated, smile eating at his face, “I’m good.”

He looked at Will, seeing his face, all warm - glowing. George smiled, looking back, looking around him - the greens and blues, the colours merging, life in front of his eyes. He smiled and thought it all cosmic.

George slowed down eventually, his hair fucked by the wind, his fingers dented by the metal. He slowed down until his feet were brushing against the floor, scuffing his shoes as he rocked gently in the swing.

“Are you alright too?” George asked Will, filling the silence, making sounds in the echos.

Will tilted his head, looked out, rocked himself in time with George, “Yeah, I think I am, y’know?”

George smiled, looking away, feeling something warm through his veins. It scared him, he supposed, the idea of this reverie - the idea that this was how it could be. The idea of this constant energy - the simpleness, the easiness. The idea of acceptance.

He looked away, thinking of everything he’d pushed away. He heard the cars in the background, horns jabbing and sirens booming. He felt the birds falling back down into their trees - into shelter. He felt reality slip back in slowly, creeping up on him gently.

It scared him, the idea that this would leave him, but he supposed it wasn’t realistic, not really. George sighed, looking out at the grass, the greens, the blues. He looked at Will, his face beaming against the sun. He looked out and thought this like heaven, where nothing else mattered.

It wasn’t realistic, George thought. The panic set in. The thoughts he’d pushed away easing back, clouding his vision, trapping his movements. Like something of a thunderstorm on a sunny day, something like a broken chain on a swing, something of nightmares.

He wanted this: the greens, the blues. The colours without blurs. He wanted something more than the panic, something with meaning, something that wasn’t invaded with confusion and doubt. He wanted to know who he was, with that kind of simplicity, the easy nature of it all.

George smiled ruefully, his head distracted, his soul walking away, leaving his form behind. He smiled, thinking this all a dream when it was reality. He smiled, wishing he could feel better.

“I’m…” George started, looking down at his lap, feeling scared, feeling like a kid again in the skate park, feeling trapped in something he didn’t understand.

“Yeah?” Will asked, all soft, eyes warm. George thought him safe, like comfort in the dark.

“No, nevermind,” George said instead, retreating, blocking it away, something he didn’t want to face. “It’s just…”

“If you say you’re lonely-”

“Not every time I say ‘It’s just’ am I gonna say I’m lonely, idiot.” George smiled, looking away, rocking in the swing, scared something would snap. “Just feel all weird, being here, you know?”

“In a bad way?” Will frowned, George knew without looking.

“No,” George thought carefully, “I don’t think so, at least… It’s just different, and all the greens and blues… it’s like a different world.”

“Suppose it is,” Will said slowly, “It’s nice, isn’t it? Pretty.”

“Yeah,” George nodded, kicking his feet. “Pretty,” He said, whispering under his breath. He thought about the boy - the boys, at the club. He thought about Will, over his shoulder. He thought about Instagram, the skies, the crimsons on the screen and the blues above his head. He thought about the girl Will scrolled past, face a blur in his conscious.

He thought about everything pretty. He thought about the flowers, the sky, the girl, the boy. George felt his head spin, his resolve breaking, snapping him out of it all.

It wasn’t something out of nowhere, George thought slowly, standing to his feet. It wasn’t a surprise, he turned around, looking at Will. But he felt dizzy, sick to his stomach, feeling his veins burst, his head spin, the freedom close in. He felt it all like a figment of his imagination; he clenched his eyes, trying to make it leave, make it go away.

He tried to look around, remind him where he was, who he was with, who he was. George clenched his fists, his sleeves dirty at the edges, his hoodie stained with the grass - proof, that it happened. He tried to open his mouth, everything coming up empty.

Will looked at him, narrowed eyes, furrowed brow. George watched his mouth move, words coming out. He couldn’t hear a thing.

“I’m gonna…” George started again, staggering backwards, “Just… I’m gonna go find the bathroom - was one near the field, at the start…” He felt his hoodie too big, his jeans too tight. “The bathroom near the field, yeah?”

“Alright,” Will said, confused. George heard him through muffled ringing through his ears. “Lemme come with you, hold on-”

“No,” George protested, waving his arms. “I’m okay… I’ll be back in a minute.” George stumbled, turning around, Will’s frown following him as he walked away, his steps getting faster as concrete turned into dirt and dirt turned into grass.

He staggered through the field, everything looking different through clear eyes. The trees looked different, less bushy, more barren. The grass torn apart, dirt spread across the shades, all dusty and brown. George felt himself dropping torn up pieces of himself into it all.

Pieces of his soul, pieces of his head, pieces of his skeleton. It all fell out of his skin, through his flesh onto the floor, dripping with blood as he staggered through something like a past memory.

George stumbled into something resembling a disabled toilet, unable to remember the footsteps it took him to get there. His hands clenched against porcelain, gripping onto something white and pure while his insides crumbled.

He felt haunted, by moments, by memories - by things he couldn’t forget. George remembered this morning, waking up, stumbling to the bathroom, feeling trapped in something small. He remembered stepping outside, feeling the air, the sun on his face, he remembered feeling free - another world.

It all fell together, pieces of worlds he’d pushed aside, everything dripping into something impossible. George shook his head, staring into the sink, his shoulders tensed by his neck as his fingers clung onto the bowl.

He looked down, seeing grass on his shoes, mud up his jeans. He looked up, looked at himself in the mirror, seeing someone he thought he knew, someone familiar - distant.

George sighed, breaths choking him in his throat. He thought about the flat, he thought about the field. He thought about Will. George thought he should stop thinking.

He felt his knees crumble, dragging him to the floor. George sat on his knees, his hands sprawled out across his lap. The lights were flickering above him. The world stopped while he fell.

He couldn’t forget how easy - how simple, it felt, in the club, looking at… looking at - at them. How easy and simple Will said it could be. It was taunting him, the idea of it all, the idea that he could have that - but he couldn’t, not really. It wasn’t him; George wasn’t easy, wasn’t simple.

It was like something was strangling him, twisting around his lungs, tugging at his ribs, fingers against his neck pressing marks into his skin.

George looked around, trying to remember where he was, who he was. The lights flickering across the floor, black tiles, white handles, paper towels tossed in the corners, the bin overflowing. George thought it like purgatory, something in limbo - a crossover.

He wanted the fields, the swings, Will pushing him. He wanted that feeling forever. George thought he was trapped in the opposite world, where his head felt heavy and his bones rough against cartilage.

He thought about the boy - the boys, he thought about the porn video, he thought about Will. George thought he was going insane. He rubbed his eyes, clenching his fists, something desperate clawing through his limbs.

He tried to breathe, tried to remember how it felt - the air, the sun, the fields. He tried to remember Will pushing him on the swing, the wind in his hair.

He tried to think of something impossible; he tried to let himself accept it.

George felt his body go limp, his shoulders dropping, his palms on his thighs, his bones unravelling into shreds of cells.

George tried to let himself think it easy, like that was all there was to it, like it could be as simple as the fields and the birds in the summer. His breath calming into rough gasps of air as the words sunk into his skull.

He didn’t believe it, not really. But he tried, he let himself think it could be like it was. It was something undetermined, interminable. George thought himself an imposter, pretending, acting. He thought himself mad.

He thought of the boy - the boys, he thought of Will, and George stood up shakily. His muscles tight as his legs struggled to hold him up. He looked in the mirror, dirt speckling up the sides. He thought it suited him.

George clenched onto the sink, the porcelain, trying to thread himself back together. He thought about who he was before all of this began, wondering if it was all a lie, hoping at the end he’d know who he was.

He stood up properly, knees straight, arms by his sides. He sighed. George thought maybe he was overreacting, like maybe it would all be okay. He sighed, forgetting where the line between truth and lies was drawn.

The hands on his neck fell away, leaving fingerprints stained red against his flesh, the twisting in his lungs caved until he felt empty inside. It was something of a nightmare.

George shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He thought it okay. He thought maybe he could pretend it could be that easy, that simple, for a little bit. He thought of the sun, the greens, the blues, and he thought he could live in this world, if he tried. So he did.

He washed his hands, trying to clean away the mud and the memories, things he wanted to forget. Paper towels falling out of the bin when he tried to balance two more on top. George sighed, considering it, before turning on his heels, spinning out of the door, leaving a piece of him inside the bathroom, another in the field, something left on the swings. Parts of him scattered like ashes.

George wiped his hands on his jeans, the door slamming behind him as the sun greeted him, all warm - taunting. George slouched, remembering Will, the swings. He wondered where he was, if he was okay. George clenched his eyes shut, wishing everything would’ve stayed like it was, without the thoughts, without confrontation in his head.

He stood there, looking at the fields, all greens and blues, something muddy underneath - hidden. George smiled slowly. Emotions bubbled through his veins; George pushed them down - hidden, greens and blues disguising it all. George smiled and thought it okay.

He started to stumble down from the concrete into the field, trying to find the swings, find Will. He didn’t get very far before he saw some green stained jeans coming towards him, fluffy hair buried under a hat, something like relief spread across features.

“Fucking hell George,” Will exclaimed gently, “There you are-”

“Sorry,” George muttered, looking up through his eyelashes, looking at Will.

Will sighed, all soft and warm, “No it’s okay - just, didn’t know what’d happened… are you alright?”

George sighed, thinking he wasn’t in a way, thinking he would be in another, “Yeah… sorry, just got a bit…” George trailed off, feeling shaky but impossible - endless.

“Yeah?” Will asked, “S’long as you’re alright.” He smiled, gentle like he understood. George supposed he did, somewhere under it all; he didn’t know if it made it better or worse.

In the end, he couldn’t decide, Will’s arm slung around his shoulders tugging him into his chest, “It’ll be alright, y’know.”

George felt his breath twisting in his throat. “Yeah,” He mumbled, pressing his face into Will’s shoulder, letting him steady him, feeling warm and safe, feeling okay just for the moment.

“Promise,” Will said, pulling him into a hug, all fabric and limbs and something gentle in the sun. George felt a piece of him melt, something reassuring, like maybe the bathroom was somewhere in between and he had to decide, whether he was going to bury it or whether he was going to accept it.

In Will’s arms, George supposed he was going to accept it. He felt something sink into his stomach, all tense and scary. He let Will hold him, something shared without words.

George remembered what he said, about it being easy, simple. He wanted that, he supposed. It shook him to the core, but it was something real and something true. He wanted that.

“Come on then,” Will broke away, limbs separating back, “I found an ice cream truck-”

“What?” George frowned, laughing under his eyebrows, croaky in his throat.

“Ice cream?” Will repeated, narrowing his eyes, “You know what ice cream is, you idiot.”

“Shut up,” George nudged him with his shoulder, “Where the fuck is this truck - I saw nothing like ice cream.”

“I guess it rocked up while you ran off - it was the other end of the field… it backs onto the road at the far end, that’s why you can hear the cars and all.”

“Oh,” George frowned, confused, feeling worlds away. “Lead the way then,” George decided, taking the plunge.

Will grinned, all soft and gentle, tugging at his wrist until they were walking in step through the grass - greens and blues merging, the sirens getting closer. George thought it scared him, everything closing in, but he wanted it, he supposed. He was going to accept it.

“Come on then - first one there has to pay.” George grinned, poking Will’s arm as he ran off, running towards the sirens, the cars - the city he was so scared of. He ran and felt careless; he thought it felt good.

\--

“Give it here-”

“No,” George snapped, protesting, “I can do it.”

Will sighed, “You evidently can’t, George mate.” Will propped himself up, leaning against plaster, staring at George trying to unlock the door.

“I can-”

“It’s your own flat, it’s one key - how are you struggling,” Will snorted, George gave him a look.

“‘Cos it’s late…” George whined, jabbing the key into the lock again, trying another one. He realised he had keys on his keychain he didn’t even remember the purpose of. He sighed, laughing at Will’s exasperation before trying again.

“Give it here-” Will said again. George whined, eventually giving in, letting the keys fall into Will’s palm as George leant against the wall. “Finally,” Will laughed, looking down at the keys.

He got it the first time.

“You’re just lucky-” George started, watching Will lead the way into his own apartment, “I could’ve done it if you’d have given me a minute longer.”

Will sighed, laughing, “Yeah, ‘cos I really wanna spend my evening stood outside your flat while you struggle with a set of keys.”

“Shut up… I would’ve got there eventually.”

“It’s your own flat,” Will exclaimed, reaching up to grab a mug, taking his jacket off while the kettle boiled. “How do you not know the key… do you do that every time you walk in, ‘cos I hate to say it George, but that’s not great.”

George nudged him, coming to fetch another mug, putting it next to Will’s, expecting him to make it for him. “Fuck off… it’s just late, I know the key to my own flat.”

Will looked at him through raised eyebrows, all warm with disbelief. “Sure…” He trailed off, looking at the second mug, “You want one too?”

“Yeah, please,” George said quieter, sounds fading out into the hum of the kettle, the shuffling of feet and the cars through the dodgy double glazing. George pulled himself up on the counter, sitting next to the mugs, next to Will.

It was later - tea time. George thought they should eat something; the 4pm ice creams weren’t really enough to substitute dinner. George tilted his head, thinking. He thought they’d be alright a bit longer. He looked at Will, dancing around the kitchen, getting a tea bag for the pair of them out of the respective boxes. George smiled, thinking this all nice.

It was dark out now, that stage of twilight, somewhere between day and night where everything felt infinite. George thought he felt it too, the endlessness, something everlasting - infinite, like the twilight.

He looked out the window, thinking he was knackered, his legs carrying him further than he’d walked since he moved to London, since he carried his boxes out of his dad’s car. George smiled, thinking he liked the way his muscles ached and his cheeks hurt.

They’d fucked around the park for a bit - going back to the swings, needless conversation. Will lead George around the fields, feet scuffing at the mud. George looked to the doorway, seeing their shoes kicked off at the door - together, he thought it something vast, indescribable.

It all felt like something, George supposed. Will pouring the water, George’s keys slung on the counter, shoes by the door. George thought it felt like something. Maybe it was overthinking, maybe it was something impossible - imagined. But George supposed he liked it, like this.

Will got out a spoon, stirring at the tea, all rhythmic and rehearsed, like this was his home - all routine. George looked away, looked out the window, he thought it less scary now, the whole world out there.

He supposed the city was grey and bleak, something dark and judgemental, the fields something endless, bounding with colour. He thought it two different worlds. He supposed his flat was like the bathroom - some sort of purgatory, where he could live and decide.

“Here,” Will said slowly, tugging George out of a daydream, something with angels and demons, “Wanna go sit down - don’t think that’s comfy… the counter.”

“Do what I want,” George responded, gently sliding off the counter anyways, following Will to the sofa, carrying his mug between two hands, “Thanks.” He said, nodding towards the mug.

Will hummed, sitting down. George joined him, kicking his feet up onto Will’s lap.

“That’s not on, is it?” Will snorted, “Get your feet off me.”

“They’re comfy,” George smiled, all toothy - beaming.

WIll sighed, shaking his head, pulling out his phone, drinking the mug.

George thought it like the morning all over again - sat there, mugs together, Will on his phone. Although, George supposed, it was all different now. George didn’t feel so trapped, enclosed like something to be watched - judged.

Instead, he thought of the fields - swinging in the park, he thought about feeling free. George smiled into his mug, thinking of acceptance, thinking it scary, thinking maybe he wanted it.

“Any news from Alex?” George said, breaking the silence, thinking maybe he needed some noise, something to stop him bouncing over the room, something to stop the adrenaline taking over.

Will shook his head, putting his mug down, “Nah… it’s late now anyway - bet they’re fucking or something-”

“Will…” George groaned, “I didn’t need to imagine that.”

Will just smirked, “What?” He laughed, “It’s true.”

George shook his head, frowning into his mug, “They’ll be alright though, you think?”

“Course,” Will shrugged, “Can tell from a mile off they… y’know… like each other-”

“Yeah,” George agreed, nodding, looking into his mug instead of looking at Will’s smile.

“Yeah,” Will repeated, looking back to his phone, his elbow jabbing into George’s ankle. George didn’t think to move it.

He shuffled against the sofa, getting comfy, getting his own phone out of his pocket and finding a scrunched up daisy tossed against the screen. George frowned, confused, before he remembered standing up with Will, rubbing grass off his clothes and placing the daisy in his pocket.

It was all ruffled, the petals gone, only a couple left hanging on. The stem was all browning from the bottom and the yellow looked stained. George thought it pretty, really. He thought it pretty like the greens and the blues, and the boy - the boys, in the club. He thought it pretty, and he thought it okay.

“Gonna put a movie on,” George smiled, something heavy in his lungs, light in his throat. He felt okay, “Anything you fancy?”

“Nah, go for whatever…” Will thought, looking up from his phone, “ Just gonna message Gee, make sure she’s sorted with footage and then I’ll watch properly with you.”

George smiled, “‘Kay,” He looked at Will, frowning at his phone. He smiled, standing up, kicking his feet away, placing the daisy gently on the table, looking like something damaged and dirty, and went to find his laptop. He smiled, thinking it okay.

\--

They must’ve fell asleep eventually, George gathered slowly, the world drifting into focus, everything sharp pinpoints and blurs. He sat up, blanket around his lap, remembering sitting next to Will, leaning on his side, watching some stupid movie, and evidently falling asleep.

George sighed, frowning, the spot beside him warm. George rubbed his eyes, wondering what he was doing, trying to rouse the energy to move to go to bed or to get comfy again here.

George blinked slowly, his eyes eventually opening properly, hands wading around the blanket, pulling it up to him. He sighed, hearing the breath leave the air.

He didn’t register at first - noises blurring, sounds soft in the lowlight. He didn’t get it. George sat there unaware, things happening around him he couldn’t grasp onto - couldn’t understand. His hand pressed into Will’s spot, wondering where he’d gone.

It didn’t register, he didn’t get it, until all of a sudden he did, until it felt like he was drowning in a pool of poison, something sharp stinging at his skin. He didn’t get it, until the space beside him and the sounds all soft in the background added up.

George felt his stomach drop through the floor, his body going limp against the sofa. All of a sudden he was alert - awake, he couldn’t breathe. The sounds echoing through his head - Will, echoing through his head.

He was all high pitched, soft and muffled, as if he was trying to be quiet. George thought he was failing. The sounds spilt through the doors, knocking through his lungs like something of a tsunami. He thought it loud in the silence, the noise rattling around George’s skull, constant and present.

George thought he should plug in some headphones, turn on something loud - blank it out, pretend it never happened. But it was like his limbs were stuck, his arms glued to his sides, his legs pressed under the blanket. He couldn’t move. He tried to get his arms to reach out, grab his phone, make it into nothing, but they stayed on his lap, heavy against the blanket as noises spilt through the plaster.

He tried to brush it off, think it as nothing - think it as normal, because it was. George just didn’t expect it. Will - the sounds, the space next to his side. George felt immobilized, everything pressing down on him like some heavy weight he couldn’t get rid of.

He felt flushed, his cheeks burning, his heart pounding. He felt guilty, like he shouldn’t be listening, trying to will his limbs into action - to get out of the way, let Will do whatever. But he couldn’t.

Will was getting louder, George noticed, trying not to listen. Moans dripped through the walls, all drawn out with burning desperation. George couldn’t breathe. He tried not to listen, tried not to imagine it, tried to get out of his head, block out the sounds - go back to sleep.

He tried to remember this wasn’t something, it was just Will, just something normal - simple, easy. Normal. George thought it wasn’t something, except the pounding rushing through his head, something tense through his limbs, the mood of it all, it all said something different.

He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. Images invaded his conscious, all hands and skin, glossy and shiny under the neon lights in the bathroom. George shook his head again, almost violent. He clenched his fists, trying to push it away, trying to think this all a dream - trying to think this as Will, something normal, something simple - easy.

He clenched his eyes shut harder, veins burning through his skull. He could still picture it, the images singing in harmony with the sounds vibrating through his bones.

George heard a choked off whine, all deep in his throat, before silence reigned. George’s breath was caught in his throat, unable to move, unable to breathe. His body stayed still, all tense against the sofa, the blanket twisting with his arms.

It didn’t get better after Will had came; the sounds echoed, rattling around his brain. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, everything radiating in the silence. His eyelids were covered with images he didn’t want to see, all sweat, skin - Will.

George shakily exhaled, trying to calm down, trying to think everything normal, trying to think he just woke up from a bad dream. He thought he could pretend to be ignorant, but he knew. He knew. George had it on replay, everything thrumming through his bones.

It was like he was paralysed, he couldn’t move, couldn’t remember which way was up and down, couldn’t remember anything but the sounds, the images - Will.

He tried to shake himself, get it together, breathe properly, make his muscles unwind against the fabric, but it was all tense and heavy - the air still, cold in the night. Lights were off, the only source being street lamps where George couldn’t move to shut the curtains.

It drilled into his bones, everything he should forget, everything he needed to forget. But it stuck, like a reminder, something pressing, urgent.

It was nothing, George tried to convince himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard someone fucking wank before - Alex was a fine one. It was just different, it was heavy, the atmosphere stale, still.

It was just like Alex, he thought. It was just the same, something normal, simple, easy. George tried to breathe, feeling suffocated, like the air had been stolen from the flat, drained out through the floorboards and windows.

He tried to forget about it, shaking his head, clenching his fists. Everything whirred around his head, the sounds, the pictures. He wished he could unhear it all, wishing he could’ve stayed asleep. He didn’t want to hear, he didn’t want to feel like this.

George tried to ignore the burning in his stomach, the twitch between his legs, tension between his eyebrows. He heard Will shuffling in the bathroom. George felt trapped, like he was caught under a spotlight. He thought he could pretend to be asleep, pretend he never heard; Will came out before he could move.

“Oh,” Will said lazily, words falling out of his mouth like raindrops, “You’re awake.”

George froze, feeling caught, stuck in something he didn’t understand. “I heard you…” George blurted out, trailing off, his voice cracking in the silence, like firecrackers, snapping in a bonfire. He thought everything was going to collapse around him.

“Oh,” Will said again, stopping in his tracks. George couldn’t look, only catching him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah,” George muttered weakly, feeling sliced open, cold, desperate, looking for something he didn’t understand.

Will didn’t speak, George didn’t blame him really. He didn’t know what there was to say. He felt like his head was scattered across the apartment, splashes of blood against fabric, organs nestled in the corners. He felt like something out of a horror movie, something he couldn’t escape from.

“Sorry,” George whispered, everything feeling untouchable, out of reach, something a little further than him.

“No, I’m sorry-” Will argued, stopping himself, “Sorry,” he said again, softer.

George sighed, feeling something of a breath leave him, “Didn’t mean to hear you… I just…”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, rubbing at his face, “Sorry.”

“S’normal,” George tried to convince himself, “Sorry for being weird over it… just… sort of came out of my mouth - I’m still half asleep,” George laughed weakly, confused, unbelieving.

“Yeah?” Will asked, standing still beside the sofa, illuminated in the street lights; George finally looked at him. He thought he looked dishevelled, he supposed he would though, his jeans low on his hips, his jumper hanging over his knuckles.

George couldn’t breathe, everything coming to life besides him. “Yeah,” he nodded, unsure how to handle himself.

“Sorry,” Will said again, shuffling.

“Shut up,” George tried to joke, trying to gain back something of himself, “You’re fine.”

“Just - don’t wanna make you feel… uncomfortable, and all… sorry-”

“Will,” George said hopelessly, “Stop saying sorry - it’s fine.”

Will looked at him, eyes wide, “Alright.” He opened his mouth again, shutting it quickly, looking away, out of the window, “Should probably shut them.”

“Nah,” George shook his head, turning to look at the curtains, “Nice to have a bit of light and all.” He tilted his head, happy for a distraction.

“Yeah,” Will agreed. Silence setting in, words dropping into dust as Will stood and George sat, a thousand unspoken meanings pulling out between them. He felt terrified this was something like an ending.

“Sorry,” George whispered again, looking away, looking out the window, looking at the city and feeling something heavy.

“S’alright,” Will said, something gentle to his voice. “Did you wanna go back to sleep or-”

“I don’t know,” George twisted in the sofa, hands tensed in the blanket. “Were you?”

“I don’t know,” Will sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Can we watch something for a bit?”

Will looked as shocked as George felt, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He just didn’t want to be alone, with the images, with the sounds, even if the guy who caused them was the company. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Unless you wanted to head off - can use Alex’s bed again, if you don’t want the sofa… sorry, I fell asleep on you earlier by the way-”

“Oh… don’t worry - was nice,” Will responded, his limbs bouncing into action, moving to get a drink, “Did you want some water?”

George tilted his head, looking around the flat, “Can you make me some tea?”

Will snorted, “I wasn’t offering tea, wanker-”

“Don’t have to,” George quickly responded, unsure how to act, cutting Will off with a sharp tongue.

“Course I will,” Will said softer, words blurry in the dark.

He felt out of his body, like someone had sucked away his soul. “Thanks,” George whispered, scared and small.

“Stick something on, I’ll make your tea and be over in a minute, yeah?” Will suggested, his feet shuffling against the floor, the kettle a familiar hum in the background.

“Yeah,” George sighed, clenching his eyes before blinking the world back into focus, reaching for his laptop, abandoned on the coffee table, trying to remember how he felt before the world shifted under his feet.

\--

He tried not to think about it. He tried to think of the fields, Will on the swing, the lights around them both - he tried to remember him like that. He tried to remember him in something sane, something warm, something that wasn’t blurred noises behind the bathroom door.

George rubbed at his eyes, trying not to think about it. He was finishing up the edit of the video he abandoned. He’d managed it eventually, thinking it something of a distraction from the noises and his imagination. It was just exporting now and George’s head was let loose.

It’d been a couple of days, of sounds and touches and things that George had been trying not to think about. George focused his mind on the video, filming another to not get behind again, going and picking up some proper food that wasn’t delivered. He tried to get back to something normal.

Will was still there, all cosy on the sofa, fucking around Alex’s room - rearranging his shit just to piss him off, really. George shook his head, thinking it all silly. He liked Will being there, it made everything a little more vibrant, a little more colourful.

George smiled, trying not to think about it. His video finished eventually; he scheduled it for later thinking he would shut his laptop off for the day. He fucked around with buttons and screens until it was done. He sat back, closing his laptop, thinking he had a free day ahead of him.

He tried not to think about it, when it was silent, when no one was around but the faint sound of Will somewhere in the flat, but it was all he could think of.

It was calmer now - more like waves of nausea, instead of something earth-shattering. George thought it’d get easier, and he supposed it did; it wasn’t so pressing now, the thought of it all. He supposed he didn’t know why it mattered in the first place, he didn’t know why he couldn’t just brush it off, pretend it never happened.

He’d tried, something stubborn in his chest whenever he tried to forget about it. It wasn’t a constant thought, but it was always there, at the back of his mind, creeping forward sometimes, the sounds, soft, echoed around the dark.

George sighed, thinking it all to shit. He supposed it wasn’t, not really. He was just being dramatic, he supposed he always was, when it came to this sort of thing.

He stood up, stretching, feeling bones click, feeling something alive. He walked out into the kitchen, joggers low on his hips and hoodie tucked over his curls.

“Video’s finished,” George smiled at Will on the sofa. George thought he was sure Will was bunking off work to be here; he thought he didn’t want to ask - didn’t want to rock the boat any more than he had.

Will smiled, all toothy and warm, “At last-”

“No need for cheek,” George raised his eyebrows, laughing in his eyes. He got out some tea, thinking it all he did lately. “Did you want one?”

Will looked up, tilting his head, “Yeah, why not.”

George hummed, buzzing around the kitchen, the kettle humming in sync. He tried not to think about it, but it was all he could think of. He looked over at Will as he reached for the two boxes of tea, he was scripting some video, or something - planning it, at least.

George threw the tea bags in the mugs, looking down. One had something like cartoon stick figures on it, the other pink with a faded Hello Kitty on the side. George looked and smiled, thinking it rhythm - George with Hello Kitty, Will with the stick figures.

George tried not to think it would be weird the other way around, he tried not to think about it weird having specific mugs, he tried not to think about Will not actually living here. The kettle boiled, snapping everything back into motion.

He poured the tea, hands steady for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. George pulled his phone out, looking for a distraction, finding nothing when Messenger had no notifications. He sighed, looking back up, looking at Will.

He tried not to think about it, about that night - he thought about the day instead, trying to focus on the ice cream, the swings, the field. But it always looped back around to the keys, the movie, the sounds.

George sighed, looking at Will. Something about him seemed different, not in something of a bad way, just something in the way George saw him, he supposed.

It wasn’t in a bad way, he tilted his head, thinking. It was just something different, like he was seeing him again for the first time. George frowned, feeling like he’d fucked it up when nothing had really changed at all.

The last couple of days had been fine: George had helped Will film, George had laughed at Will’s attempts in the gym, George had edited and Will had meetings. It was all normal, besides the sounds tormenting George’s head.

Nothing had changed, he told himself again, but it was like the world clicked a new place, everything shifting over one space to the left, where everything was a bit sunnier, with a better view.

George sighed, stirring the tea, metal clanking against ceramic. It scared him, he supposed. The idea of things shifting - seeing things differently.

He reached into the fridge, grabbing some milk, fixing Will’s milky and his own with sugar. “Move over then,” George said in preparation, juggling the mugs as he walked towards Will, trying to convince himself it’s all fine.

“Oh,” Will looked up, scurrying into action, limbs moving his laptop, making space, “Thanks,” he said, cradling the stick men with both hands.

“S’alright,” George smiled, sitting down, feeling this all familiar - like routine, even if Will looked shiny, new, something warm.

George saw the daisy on the coffee table, brown, dead, lifeless. He remembered it alive, all charming with yellows and greens. He thought Will looked like that. Alive. Charming.

“Did you have any plans?” George asked, remembering the fields, remembering that morning, the breakdown before the start of the path.

Will narrowed his eyes, “No… why?”

“Are you just saying that, or-”

Will snorted, “No, George… I really have no plans.” Will sipped at his tea, looking at George expectantly, “What did you have in mind.”

George picked at his jumper, the cuff of his sleeve coming loose at the ends, “Nothing - just… was nice, the other day, you know, getting out…”

“Yeah?” Will asked gently.

“Yeah,” George nodded, looking out of the window, seeing a world below him and thinking himself not scared. He was more scared at what was in front of him instead. “Can we do it again?”

“Dunno if my legs can carry me through that field again mate-”

“No,” George interrupted, “Could go the cinema or something… must be something good on, I’ve not kept up with what’s new - or sometimes they do old shit, right?”

Will tilted his head, confused, a hazy smile across his face, “Maybe, yeah… that’d be nice, that would.”

“Don’t have to sound so convinced-”

“Shut up,” Will laughed, nudging him in the side, “Just unlike you lately… y’know, wanting to leave the house.”

George looked at him, shrugging before he looked into his tea, “Think maybe it’s better outside… gets my head away for a little bit.”

Will nudged him again, softer this time, comforting, “Yeah… it’s good that is… we’ll go out then, yeah?”

“Please, yeah.” George smiled, drinking back his tea.

Will gave him a look, George spotted it out of the corner of his eye, “Don’t have to choke on it - Christ, we can go whenever you’ve finished… no rush mate.”

George snorted, choking down his gulp, “I know… just - thirsty?”

“Sure,” Will narrowed his eyes, “Alright,” he said, finishing off his mug within seconds.

George just looked at him, smiling, feeling shaken in his chest, something unsettling under the surface - not the usual fear, something different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Ready whenever then?” Will asked, shutting his laptop down, placing his mug against the table, next to the dead daisy neither of them had cleared up.

George smiled, shuffling in the seat, “Yeah-”

“George?” Will asked, interrupting him.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t run off… this time, if you don’t have to… yeah?” Will said softer, quietly into the afternoon daylight, syllables fading away with the haze of the sun.

George looked at him, his shoulders slouching, his stomach clenching, “I won’t… it’s okay now, I think.” George tried to nod, tried to reassure him, and it was, really. It was okay, he was trying, and he thought that was something. It was just that little nudging feeling in his chest, in his throat, something scary and unsettling when he looked at Will.

It was just something of nothing, George supposed, he thought it was just everything changing, he thought it’d go away if he left it untouched.

“Alright,” Will smiled, looking peaceful, settled. “Alright yeah,” he said again, soft and reassuring.

George stood up, ignoring the tug pulling at his throat when Will looked at him, “Off we go then,” he said, turning his back, breathing steadily, grabbing a jumper and waiting by the door.

Will smiled at him, bouncing onto the balls of his feet, grabbing shoes on his feet in record time. George stood there watching, like a glass doll, trying not to falter.

\--

George booked them an Uber in the end; Will said his feet hurt, said something about not being able to stand up on the tube. George looked at him astonished, shaking his head as he clicked on the app.

Will was getting the tickets to a movie George hadn’t been consulted over, he was stood in the entrance, some big building with stained blue carpets. George smiled, kicking at the frays.

It was good to get out, he thought carefully. He thought maybe the world around him wasn’t so scary, not in the field, not in the cinema, he thought maybe it was nice, something bigger than him. He looked at Will thumping at the ticket machine, laughing at him, thinking it easier to go to the counter.

George was about to walk over, thinking he couldn’t watch him stumble forever, when two tickets fell out the machine. George tilted his head, smiling as Will turned around.

“What’s this movie called again?” George called out, walking to meet Will somewhere in the middle, standing in this big empty space, some Friday afternoon, feeling something scared, but something familiar.

Will raised his eyebrows, “S’called ‘What Men Want’, or something - was the least inconspicuous there-”

George narrowed his eyes, “Inconspicuous? That just sounds like a fucking porno, Will…”

Will snorted, “You never know, maybe it is-”

“I will throttle you if you’ve found some random cinema that’s put on a porno,” George looked at him, shaking his head, looking around, looking away.

Will just laughed, “It’s not… it shouldn’t be, at least.”

“Very reassuring,” George looked at the game machines, tilting his head, remembering being too small to jump on the bike at the cinema back home. He wondered if he was the same person now as he was then. He felt like he was looking back through a kaleidoscope, through a double-sided mirror.

He sighed, thinking of the boy at the club, thinking of what started it all. He thought about loneliness, and how he was anything but with Will standing next to him. He thought about standing in the bathroom in a field that felt like a dream, feeling like he was going to hell.

George thought about the choice he made then and there. He considered whether he regretted it, whether it would’ve been easier to pretend those feelings were never there. He decided it wouldn’t have been, in the end. He decided he didn’t regret it. He just supposed it was a bitter pill to swallow.

“Gonna get some popcorn,” Will smiled gently, “You coming?”

George nodded, following along mindlessly, smiling looking at the cuffs of Will’s jeans - all grassy and stained with moss, like his shoes.

“Oh, large please.” George heard Will ask the girl at the counter; she was all soft, hair in a ponytail, smile warm against skin.

Will turned to him, “We’ll share it - the popcorn… better value than buying two.” Will shrugged, tugging out his wallet.

George watched, a bystander in it all, feeling comfortable in the scenery. Will turned around, some cardboard bucket in hand, looking ridiculous.

“Right,” George shuffled on the spot, “We going?”

Will hummed, looking at him like he’d fallen out of a daydream. George felt his eyes soften around the edges.

“Which cinema are we in - the screen?” George stumbled, looking at Will look at him.

“Oh,” Will broke away, looking at the tickets. George shoved his hands into his pockets. “Five.” He said, and lead the way.

George followed slowly, feet scuffing against the floor, the mud on his shoes a reminder of the greens and the blues - how it felt to be real, alive. George smiled, thinking maybe he felt it now, although this time it was more muted, dark in warmth and comfort.

Will showed the tickets to this tall thin man, his lips vaguely resembling a smile. George followed Will past the man when he told him which one the screen was, he smiled looking at Will’s back, following him against red carpets.

“Here,” Will mumbled to himself, holding the door open with one hand, gesturing with the other.

George raised his eyebrows, surprised, somehow. “Thanks,” he said softly, walking past him, hearing feet scuffing behind him, letting him know he was following.

George stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the tiered seats. He touched his fingers against the front row, tilting his head, before leading them up the stairs to the back.

He felt rebellious, like some teenager again, all young with his mates pretending to be cool at the back in the dark. He smiled, taking a seat in the middle, holding down the seat next to him as Will caught up.

“This alright?” George asked, delayed, trailers playing in the background.

“Yeah,” Will smiled. He handed George the popcorn while he took his jacket off, “Probably should’ve bought a drink too-”

“Can go get one still, if you want… trailers will be on for another minute or so, I reckon,” George said through a mouth of popcorn.

“Oi,” Will grinned, “Don’t start without me.”

George looked up at him through his eyelashes, “You gave it to me-”

“Not to eat it all,” Will sat down, sighing, leaning over George’s body to grab a handful.

George jerked the popcorn away, holding it with his other hand, just out of Will’s grip. He smirked, feeling childish and immature - innocent. George thought he liked it, like that.

“Now that’s just not fair is it,” Will pouted, reaching over again, “Give it here - I paid for that-”

“Shut up,” George laughed, stuffing his mouth full before he caved, giving the bucket back to Will.

“Thank you,” Will smirked, looking victorious. George thought he looked stupid, he thought he liked it.

George turned away, shaking his head, turning back to the neon lights and the big screen. Will crunching on popcorn next to him, all teeth and bite. George shook his head, sticking his hand in and shoving more in his mouth.

The screen lit up all bright, lucid with whites and colours, all infinite as the lights dimmed. Will nudged him as it started, whispering something George couldn’t catch.

George sat there for ten minutes, trying to get into the movie, trying to take his mind off things, trying to enjoy himself, but the movie was horrendous. He frowned at the screen, colours and people and laughter lines that failed.

“Is it just me or…” George cupped Will’s ear, yelling towards him.

Will narrowed his eyes, looking forward, “Nah, it’s… well, it’s shit mate, let’s be honest.” He huffed a breath, stuffing his face with popcorn, the bucket vastly depleted already, “I thought it’d be… like one of them cheesy romcoms you like.”

“Shut up,” George smacked his shoulder, blushing in the lights, “I don’t like them - and anyway, this isn’t one of them anyway.”

“Yeah, I know that now… didn’t know it when I bought the tickets - I thought you’d like it, this shit.”

George felt his shoulders slump, his body soften into the chair, feet all kicked out in the space of the back row, “Yeah… can’t say this is… much good.”

“Give it a couple more minutes,” Will murmured through a mouthful, “Then we can leave.”

George looked up at him, frowning, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Will nodded, convinced, “No point if we’re not enjoying it - just, let me finish the popcorn-”

“Give us some too then,” George snatched some out of the bucket, grinning wickedly in the dark, feeling like he was everyone and no one all at once.

Will shook his head, turning back to the lights and the action. George grinned, moving his eyes back again.

Time moved slowly, like they were in something of a twilight, somewhere in between it all where time didn’t exist. George watched the characters on screen, he watched the lead take her shirt off and frowned, remembering when Will said this wasn’t a porno.

He was about to open his mouth to say something before the screen cut and noises and sounds echoed through the room. George tilted his head, remembering the noises Will made, shaking his head, tensing his fists, thinking he should’ve forgotten by now.

It wasn’t long before the colours switched and it was back to normal, but George’s mind lingered, like something he couldn’t pull away from, even if he tried. He thought about waking up, everything still in the moment where you’re both asleep and awake, thought about the panic settling in, and Will stepping out.

He was trying to forget, blank it out like he did with Alex - like he would do, with a mate. Because it was nothing, not really. It was just one of those things. But George couldn’t block it out - it haunted him, the sounds, the imaginary picture of it all.

He tilted his head, thinking it was just a matter of time, it’d have to leave him alone eventually - he thought at least for now he wasn’t considering the main issue in his conscious, at least it gave him a distraction, even an unwelcome one.

“Right,” Will declared. George jumped, forgetting he was by his side, “Now that we’ve watched them fuck, you wanna leave?”

George snorted, “That was all you were waiting for, you absolute horny fuck.”

“No - I wanted to see if it got better… and finish my popcorn.” Will stared into the bucket, you want anymore?”

George raised his eyebrows at him, stealing the bucket out of his hands and going to town. “Yeah,” he said through mouthfuls, licking the tips of his fingers.

Will disturbed him before long, shoving his hand in the bucket, spilling a handful of popcorn across his lap, “Oh,” he said softly, innocently.

George looked up slowly, looked at Will. It wasn’t that George cared, it was that George wanted a bit of fun. So he tipped the rest of the bucket over Will’s head.

“Fuck off,” Will spluttered, huffing through a laugh.

George snorted, feeling young, feeling free. “It’s a good look, that is.”

“What? Fucking popcorn all over me? Yeah - trendsetter, I am.” Will shook his head, popcorn bouncing against the floor. “Poor guys clearing this up-”

“You started it,” George protested, feeling guilty, but grinning as he watched Will squirm.

Will looked at him, long and hard, before he scooped up a handful and shoved it George’s direction. “Let’s call it even-”

Before George could snap a response, his eyes spread across the room, catching sight of this middle-aged mother with her daughter eyeing them up, all narrow and glaring - accusing. George felt his eyes go wide, his body tense. He forgot really, in it all, that they were in public.

Will’s eyes must’ve followed George’s after he didn’t respond, “Oh,” he murmured, nudging George in the arm, “I reckon we’ve been caught out, George mate.”

“You could say that-”

“You know this is a cinema?” The lady called out, surprising both of them in the process, “You know, where you’re quiet?”

Will just snorted, George felt his body tense. Will stood up quickly, brushing the crumbs off him, “You coming?” Will whispered, not giving George a chance to reply before grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet.

George felt a whirlwind; the woman watching them leave, a smug smile on her face, Will’s hand in his, all warm - sticky, from the popcorn. George shook his head, smiling as his feet stumbled along the floor, following Will down the stairs in the dark, neon colours flashing against their skin.

Will’s hand felt comforting - warm, something gentle but demanding as George let him pull him out towards the doorway, quickly running through the carpets like they were being chased. George felt himself beaming, something childish and ridiculous.

“You alright?” Will laughed, all out of breath like they’d ran a marathon instead of a couple of stairs.

“Fucking hell - did you see that lady?” George snorted, “Thought she was gonna neck us.”

Will laughed, dropping George’s hand to collapse on the floor next to an overflowing bin. George felt the nerves in his hand tingle with the fading memory of it, he thought it was nice. He watched Will prop himself up on his thighs, laughing like he was manic.

“Yeah,” Will tried to breathe without choking on the air, “Like - calm down, was only having a bit of fun.”

George fell on the floor next to him, his feet feeling tired, his body drained as he laughed, feeling his chest rising and falling. His head fell back, resting on the wall, eyes rolled over to look at Will.

“Was fun though, really.” George said in the end, when laughter had faded into mindless chuckles.

Will smiled, looking opposite at the wall, “Yeah, was really… besides you getting fucking popcorn down me shirt-”

“It was necessary,” George protested, gesturing his hands for definition, “Your t-shirt was hungry.”

“Shut up,” Will shook his head, a smile twitching at his lips.

George looked away, looked at the opposite wall, staring at something blank - like a picture primed, ready to be painted. Nothing defined, everything empty, filled with feeling, rather than words.

George froze, his hands dropping in his lap, his eyes locked onto the wall. He thought it again like the bathroom - somewhere in between, something like purgatory, in between everything and nothing.

He tilted his head, thinking about meanings, wondering if he was going to accept himself - his feelings, the truth. He looked at the wall and saw something deeper than a blank canvas, he saw the colours twisting, marks drawn, everything there, but in his head. He thought he hadn’t put the paint down yet.

He looked at Will through his eyelashes, feeling warm, all comforted next to a waste bin on the red carpets that could’ve done with a hoover. He thought it strange, how it’d all unfolded.

“What are you looking at?” Will asked, “Have I got popcorn in my hair - I thought I’d gotten it all out.” Will sighed, shaking his head, “This is your fault you know.” He went to stand up, hands in his hair, trying to fuss it.

George frowned, shaking his head, “Oh,” he whispered, something hazy in his chest, “No - you’ve got nothing in your hair… it all came out.”

Will stopped, sitting back down again, head rolling back to rest against the wall, his eyebrows raised, “Are you messing? ‘Cos I don’t really wanna go back on the tube with - whatever, in my hair.”

George snorted, shaking his head, smiling, “Nah, you’re safe.”

“Alright,” Will accepted, sitting back, “You’re just looking at me ‘cos I’m devilishly handsome - I know, you don’t have to say.”

“Fuck off,” George nudged him, batting at his arm, “You know that’s not true - you’re a state, look at you, covered in popcorn, next to a bin… how the mighty fall.”

“You saying I was once mighty?”

George sighed, “No, I’m saying you’ve fallen-”

“That’s not very nice, is it, George mate?” Will smirked, “After I’ve taken you out to sit next to a fucking bin and get shouted at by some old lady.”

“This was as much of your idea as it was mine,” George protested, words mindless, weightless in his throat. Everything feeling like feathers in front of him.

“Shut up, just wanted to leave the house with you… didn’t sign up for the rest of it mind.” Will murmured softly, words like birds in the air.

George looked at him, smiled, looked at him looking at the wall, all blank with invisible colours, hidden masterpieces. He looked at him and felt something warm, something scary in his stomach. He looked at him and felt something funny, starting to frown. He looked at him looking at the wall, and felt everything slot together like puzzle pieces.

He looked at him like he looked at the boy - the boys, at the club. He looked at him and thought nothing of it.

George looked at him and thought everything fucked.

\--

“Will?” George asked, sneaking out of his room, tiptoeing towards the sofa, hands wringing against his chest. He felt nervous, something monstrous eating at his lungs.

Will looked up from his emails, George felt bad disturbing him, but he couldn’t sit in his room and go over the same shit over and over. “Yeah? You alright?”

“Yeah…” George said slowly, sitting on the cushions, playing with the tail end of Will’s blanket, “I think so.”

Will frowned, looking at him through furrowed eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

George sighed, thinking he wanted this, but feeling scared when push came to shove, “Just… you know you’re… open?”

“Open?” Will tilted his head, confused. George gesture wildly with his hands, trying to make sense of it all when words couldn’t, “Oh,” Will nodded, catching on slowly, “Yeah?”

“What’s it… you know…. What’s it like?”

Will smiled gently, George felt shivers in his bones, he felt laid bare, like Will could see straight through him. It scared him. Acceptance.

“Just the same as it is for anyone else,” Will started, “But y’know… with a different lens, y’know? It’s like, it’s just the same, really.”

George frowned, feeling something twisting in his gut, “But like… it’s not the same.”

“Why isn’t it?”

George floundered, struggling for words, “Blokes…” he trailed off, the meaning lost somewhere in the air, “You know… it’s different.”

Will looked away, considering. George watched him, looking out the window, searching for something George needed to hear.

“Girls are pretty, yeah?” Will waited for George to nod, confused, “And it’s just like… the same way I think they’re fit, so are lads.”

“But…” George struggled to breathe, “But they’re lads…”

“Yeah,” Will nodded slowly, “That’s kind of the point mate.”

“But…” George said again, coming up empty.

“Girls are pretty with soft hair and perfume, short skirts and heels… and lads are pretty with muscles and smiles, all legs and… y’know.”

George sat still, looking away, out the window, out at the world beneath their feet.

“It’s the same,” Will carried on, “It’s just… yeah.”

George nodded slowly, words strangling him. He wanted to be honest with himself, honest to Will, to the world beneath them. But he was scared, terrified of something unknowing, unsure.

“But…” George paused, thinking of what he wanted to say, toying the words around his mouth, fear fighting with acceptance, “If I’m…”

George stopped, tilting his head, looking out the window, waiting for the window to shatter, the sirens to start, the cars to crash. He sat and waited for the world to burn. It didn’t. George thought it strange.

“Yeah?” Will said slowly, softly.

“If…” George repeated, “If… you know…” he said, unable to speak the words out loud, “Then how is it that easy… to be open.”

Will turned away, looking out the window. George thought the world plastic, pretending.

“It’s okay, y’know.” Will replied eventually. George froze, thinking the sentiment unexpected, “If… y’know.” he trailed off, not wanting to scare George away.

George looked at him, wide eyes and desperation, “But…”

“It’s okay,” Will said again, looking gentle. George thought the world shattering anyway, crumbling beneath his feet.

“Yeah,” George said, for sake of saying something, filling the silence.

Will nodded, “Yeah,” he said slowly, smiling, reassuring.

George felt bare, ripped open. He felt like everything was torn out of his body, laid out for the city to see, for Will to see. It scared him. Acceptance. He was trying, he thought slowly, he thought it counted for something.

Silence weighed heavy, tugging at George’s head, leaving him to drift. Will looked out the window, watching the world turn, everything stay the same beneath them. George thought it strange, like he was dreaming.

“Oh, it’s Monday, isn’t it?” Will said after a minute, frowning, looking at his phone. The moment was broken, George felt his muscles relax, like everything was back to normal, when really it was anything but.

“Yeah… why?”

Will sighed, “This club thing… think I mentioned it to you before, Gee’s mates, or something. I was supposed to be going.”

George hummed, “That’ll be good,” he smiled, thinking of neon lights, heavy bass, a world where he could be forgotten.

“Yeah… not sure I’m up for it, really.” Will rubbed his eyes, kicking his feet up, everything normal.

George raised his eyebrows, “What? You? Not up for a club? That’s different-”

“Shut up,” Will snorted, “Just tired, and I’ve gotta finish this video.”

“You’ve got time mate,” George said, looking at his phone, “It’s only three… what time were you supposed to meet them?”

“Nineish, I suppose.” Will sighed, meeting George’s eyes, tilting his head, “You could come with me, actually.”

George frowned, confused, “You weren’t planning on going a minute ago, hold on-”

“Yeah, but it’ll be… it’ll be fun with you there.” Will looked away, out the window. George felt something in his stomach shift.

“Alright,” George whispered, feeling warm. His cheeks blushing, he looked away, trying to hide. “If you want.”

“Yeah?” Will asked, “You really would?” He looked surprised. George felt confused.

“I mean… If you want me to?”

“Yeah… yeah, I would, please.” Will sighed, ruffling his hair, his limbs falling into the sofa, playing with the other end of the blanket with his fingertips, looking down at his lap.

“Alright then,” George tried to smile, tried to become something bigger than himself, something reassuring, comforting - like Will was to him. “Best finish your video first though, then you can drink in peace.”

“Yeah…” Will sighed again, lost in the window. “Make us a cup of tea, will you?”

George snorted, “I’m not your slave,” he said, getting to his feet anyway, something lighter in his chest, something tied in with the fear.

Will smiled at him, all toothy and warm. George shook his head, going to the kitchen, letting everything fade away as the kettle hummed something of a song in the silence.

\--

George was drunk, all hazy in the dark lights, everything drifting over him like waves, small, inconsequential. He blended in, all black clothes and shoes, hidden against the wall. He felt like no one, he thought he needed that, after the conversation with Will.

He looked up at the strobes, lighting up the room one face at a time. George remembered how he felt when he was younger, when he was blending in at discos at school, clubs when he got older. He smiled, memories warm in the darkness of it all.

Will was somewhere to the side, chatting to Gee, catching up with people he hadn’t seen all week. George felt something twinge in his throat; he didn’t like it.

He felt guilty, stealing Will away. He thought he didn’t deserve it, really. He thought he deserved something like devastation when the police come running, buildings falling. He thought he deserved something different, that was all.

George watched him socialise, twirling around faces George recognised but didn’t know. He thought he was in his element, smile vividly printed across his face, eyes bright, iridescent under the lights. He thought he looked good, like that.

George looked away, finishing his drink. He was drunk, he remembered, everything blurry, resembling a dream, just out of reach, never close enough. He smiled, thinking he liked being no one, thinking nothing mattered here.

Girls twisted hair around fingers, lipstick around straws, tying boys around their arms like laces. George thought them pretty, all lace and laughter.

He looked a little further, remembering what Will said, remembering what he chose in the bathroom only a couple days ago. He thought it felt like months. He looked a little further and saw boys, limbs free, hands outstretched, vibrant smiles, sharp jaws. He looked and thought them pretty, he looked and tried to feel okay.

It was like the boy - the boys, before. George remembered that feeling, something monumental, scary - something bigger than him.

He looked out, seeing someone with brown curls, locked with layers of hairspray, shiny eyes underneath the ends. He looked and this time felt something different. He felt something like acceptance, but something like denial. It wasn’t scary, this time. It was like a nightmare.

George thought he knew who he was, growing up, he was always George with the curly hair, George who was bad at maths, George who made videos. He was always George, when it came down to it. He knew who that person was.

He thought he didn’t know this person, holding the empty glass, staring out into the bright lights. The person stood there, wearing his clothes, his shoes, dressed in black. He thought the person stood there wasn’t him.

He suddenly realised he couldn’t care less about the person stood there, but he cared about the person it had taken over. He thought that the person he knew, was someone different entirely.

George thought the person he was liked girls, viewed editing as something fun, rather than a chore. He thought the person he was liked sitting playing Fifa, rather than sitting in a field, swinging on something like a pendulum.

He thought he didn’t know who this person was, the one with the glass, in his clothes. He didn’t know who they were.

He tried to think about Will, about his words - the meaning. He tried to remember nothing was that different, the world wasn’t falling apart. Although it felt like it was, behind the scenes.

George tried to stabilize himself, looking out in the darkness, fingertips clinging onto the glass like a pipeline. He saw Will immediately, like he was the only thing George knew, anymore.

He saw him dancing, limbs loose, mouthing to something George couldn’t understand. George looked at him and felt the world falling apart, this time, for real.

It was like that night, waking up with the sounds, the echos. It was like the cinema, looking at a blank wall, the feeling dropping in his stomach.

It was like the whole world as he knew it lit on fire. It was all burning under his feet.

He looked at Will, all sharp edges with his elbows jutting out, his feet moving in symphony to the rest of them, but George couldn’t focus on anyone else. He looked at Will, hopelessly. He looked at Will and thought he looked pretty.

George smiled within the devastation, desperation clawing through his veins like it was threatening to rip him apart. All he could do was smile, like he was manic, a little hysterical, something unbalanced.

He wondered how it felt, knowing who you were. He wondered how Will looked at the crowd, the room, he wondered how it was with the world at your feet, everything simple, easy. Everything unbreakable.

George smiled, teeth catching on his lip, He smiled and wished Will was by his side, so he could have someone to lean on, something supportive.

He smiled and thought he was drunk.

It was seconds later when George realised he had legs that should work, legs that could fix it, make him feel sane again. His fists were tight, his nails digging into his palms as he walked over. His body rocked amongst people, fingertips dragging against Will’s arm.

“Hey,” George tugged at his skin, “Will…”

Will turned, smiling - glowing. George felt himself soften, feeling bad for tearing him away from this, from where he looked happy, but he needed something, he needed him, just for a little bit.

“Yeah?” Will said, hands wandering around George’s shoulders, fingertips trailing down the fabric of his shirt, smoothing out the creases.

George smiled, feeling alive. Desperate and broken, but alive. “Follow me?”

Will tilted his head, looking confused, nodding numbly as George grabbed hold of his wrist. George started to turn away to drag them to the bathroom but Will stopped them, grabbing at George’s arm, fingertips like nails as they scratched down and replaced George’s grip with his hand, instead of his wrist.

George stood there still, turned back to face Will. Will shrugged, whispering something George couldn’t catch. George looked at their hands, fingers tied together, and he felt something rising in his chest.

Maybe he didn’t know who he was, maybe he felt like he was looking from the outside in, maybe he was terrified, but George supposed maybe he felt something fizzling through his blood when his hand hung with Will’s, an endless force between bodies.

George smiled, faltering as he turned away. He took a breath, then another, then one more. He looked back making sure Will was there, reassuring, comforting, and George tugged them through bodies like statues and mannequins, everything so rehearsed, no feeling.

Lights caught them as they stumbled through, falling through the bathroom door like a portal. The music softened, the bass a faint pulse rather than deep vibrations. George dropped Will’s hand, feeling the warmth leave him.

He paced around the bathroom, everything white and sterile, stains he didn’t want to know the stories of deep in the corners. George paced, wringing his hands. Will stood there and watched, looking confused - concerned, even.

George supposed it was all strange, really. He supposed deep down, he knew it all fucked.

Suddenly he snapped, like it’d been building for months. George stopped in his tracks, standing still. He rocked on his feet, feeling drunk and dizzy, high on something impossible.

George stood there, looking at Will, seeing a world before him, just a little out of reach.

He stood there and thought about what started it all. He thought about the boy - the boys, how pretty they were. He thought about that night, wanking to the bloke in the porn. He thought about the fields, endless, greens and blues - freedom. He thought about the swings, feeling like a pendulum. He thought about the bathroom, purgatory, somewhere between, forced to choose.

He thought about what he did choose. He thought about acceptance. He thought about hearing Will in the bathroom, hazy in the lowlights. He thought about the cinema, the popcorn, feeling young - careless. He thought about the wall with a thousand pictures sketched into the surface, although blank to the eye.

He thought about Will. He thought about everything being simple, easy. He thought about finding Will pretty. He thought about his laugh, the way it warmed him like a bonfire. He thought about the way he touched him like something delicate, all fingertips instead of nails. He thought about Will, and he thought him pretty.

He thought it all fucked.

“What’s it like?” George snapped, his feet moving again, kicking into automation, “You know… what’s it like?”

Will stood, back against the wall, eyebrows pulled together, hesitant, He could sense George’s mood. “What?” Will stuttered, “Huh?”

“You know…” George spun on his heels, looking away, looking at Will through the mirrors, “Knowing who you are. What’s it like?”

Will looked shocked, George noticed. He grabbed onto the sink, fingers glued to porcelain like a lifeline. No one spoke for a minute, George let his feet give way, clinging onto the sink, everything pure beside him.

He looked at Will in the reflection. He looked stunned, uncertain - like he didn’t know what to say. George finally looked at himself in the reflection, tilting his head, clenching his eyes, trying to change it. He looked drunk, like he’d crossed the line of oblivion.

George realised with an instant he’d made it worse.

“Fuck,” George whispered under his breath, hands falling into fists, rubbing at his eyes, scratching through his hair.

He couldn’t keep still, his feet twisting across tiles, swaying with alcohol beyond his limits. It was like his bones were dancing without his consent, his muscles contracting to pull his limbs across the floor. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, his fingers twitching in his palms.

“I… I don’t know,” Will eventually broke the peace, “I don’t know, George.”

George looked desperate, finally snapping his neck back to look at Will.

“I don’t… I don’t know who I am, not completely.” Will stumbled, “Do you think anyone does?”

George looked at him, frowning, smiling - somewhere twitching in between.

“It’s alright mate,” Will said, looking up through eyelashes, looking more sober than George thought he’d ever felt in his life. “It’s okay, yeah?”

“It’s not though, is it?”

Will tentatively stepped closer, “Why isn’t it?”

“‘Cos… it just isn’t.” George whined, cursing loudly, jolting the room around him.

“It is,” Will said again, stepping closer.

George panicked, feeling sick. The alcohol was catching up to him, or maybe it was all in his mind.

“I don’t wanna feel like this,” George whined, looking up at Will, feeling something lingering in his stomach.

Will hummed, getting close enough to wrap an arm around George’s waist, steadying him against the sink, “I know.”

“I don’t like it,” George continued, sinking into Will, bodies merging, feeling his touch against his back, his hands pulling him in. George rested his head against Will’s shoulder, slouching in the weight of him.

“I know,” Will repeated, stroking his hands across George’s t-shirt. He reached up into his hair, messing with the strands. George gulped, clenching his eyes shut, looking into Will’s shirt.

“I’m drunk…” George whispered, murmuring against fabric.

Will snorted, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, feeling dizzy. “I drank too much.”

“I should’ve kept an eye out… sorry-”

“Not your responsibility,” George protested, frowning. He pulled away, creating space between them.

Will looked at him funny, like he was a piece of glass, all delicate and breakable. George felt sick. He thought he should get home, he didn’t want to ruin it for Will, more than he already had.

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” Will reaffirmed, hands holding him up even without the proximity, “So now, we’re gonna get you home, yeah?”

George frowned, nodding slowly. “Don’t you wanna stay? Just help me call a car… you stay with your mates, you were having fun-”

“Nah, ready to collapse, I am.” Will faintly smiled, “The fun’s back at yours.”

George swallowed heavily, feeling that something swirling in his chest again. He looked away, rocking on his heels, trying to take himself elsewhere, a world where he wasn’t having a breakdown in another bathroom.

“I don’t wanna fuck up your night…”

“You’re not,” Will said, pulling him closer into a hug, leaning into him, swaying together. George felt safe, cocooned in something familiar.

George whispered into Will’s shirt, “Don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You’re not,” Will said again, “You won’t.”

George just hummed mindlessly. He smiled, fingers clutching onto Will like he was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

“I’m gonna call us a car, yeah?” Will whispered. George started to pull away, Will kept him close. He tugged his phone from his pocket, dialling up a number, taking softly into George’s ear to the operator.

George heard the other man’s voice, all crinkled through the receiver. He remembered there was a world out there, even if he didn’t want to face it. It was there, and it was real. George thought he didn’t know who he was, he wondered if it mattered.

Will hung up before George could decide.

“They’ll be here in a bit… wanna get some water and we’ll say bye and all?”

George frowned, “You go say bye, I’ll go wait outside-”

“Come with me… we’ll be like three minutes, alright?” Will tried to reason, pulling away, wrapping himself around George’s side instead, tucking him under his arm.

George felt all small, tucked up under his arm like a blanket. He rested his hand on his waist, clinging to the fabric, wrapping it creased in his fists. “Yeah,” he agreed slowly, “I’ll follow you then.”

Will smiled, pulling away further. George frowned, missing the contact.

Instead, Will interlocked his fingers into George’s, uncurling his fist to hold his hand. George felt something heavy pressing in his stomach, he thought he was getting used to it, maybe he liked it. He thought it was the alcohol talking, shaking his head and stumbling after Will, back out the door, into the lights and the action.

He focused on the warmth of his hand, tacky with sweat, linking their bodies into one. George smiled, feeling calmer, more at peace. He let himself sway along with everyone, losing track of who he was as he followed Will, thinking maybe that was all that mattered.

He thought about the warmth of his hand, just like the greens and the blues, just like the pretty boys from the clubs. He thought about the warmth of his hand and thought it scary, but something he thought he could get used to.

Will looked back at him, talking to Gee, with all these faces lost in the blur. George smiled, pretending to matter, pretending to be someone in the crowd.

He looked around and thought about what Will said. He thought he didn’t know who he was, and George supposed Will was right, when it came down to it. He looked around and wondered if anyone was ever certain.

He decided they weren’t, by the time Will was pulling them out through the entrance, street lights replacing neon signs. George looked at Will and thought he was certain, and maybe he didn’t need to know anything else.

\--

George stood propped up against the plaster, thinking of the fields, not being able to fit the key in the lock. This time Will had his keys, a lazy hand wrapped around his own, anchoring him to the ground, to the moment. He was struggling to open the door, George smiled, thinking it’d be easier with two hands, thinking he wasn’t going to let go regardless.

Will got there eventually, George squeezing his hand tightly, smiling at his back as he dragged them in the flat. George stumbled on his feet, the heat of the night catching up to him. The liquor helping him drown, lights flashing behind his eyelids, memories of something he’d left behind.

“Oh,” George mumbled, seeing Alex curled in a ball, phone in his fist on the sofa, “Hey.”

Alex smiled, all warm and welcoming. George stood still, rocking on his feet, clinging onto Will, palms sweaty pressed together. Will didn’t seem to mind; George didn’t give it much thought.

“Hi, you been out?” Alex asked, looking at George, narrowing his eyes, looking at Will, tilting his head for an explanation. “Is he… alright?”

George snorted, thinking himself anything but. Will just looked at him under his eyebrows, all frowns and concern.

“Yeah, think so.” Will responded, trying his efforts to smile at Alex, “Didn’t know you’d be back tonight mate, is everything alright?”

“Yeah… James forgot he had an essay due, absolute dickhead forgot to write it before we left.” Alex shook his head, looking at his phone before losing it in the sofa cushions. “Probably for the best though, reckon his mum was sick of us by now.”

“Did she like you?” Will asked, taking over George’s part in the conversation. “Oh, and did you talk to James, ‘bout y’know… all of it… in the end?”

Alex smiled, all soft, “Yeah, I did actually…” He trailed off, lost in something of a daydream.

“So how was that then?” Will asked, forcing himself into action. He kicked his shoes off, let go of George’s hand to forge off his jacket, before starting on George.

George watched Will carefully, his arms limp by his sides, all wobbly and unsure. It felt like he’d lost a limb when Will let go. He supposed he was being overdramatic.

“Was good actually… was in bed-”

“Don’t give me details of how you fucked,” George blurted out, arms struggling to get out of his hoodie, Will’s hands on the fabric trying to help.

Alex snorted, “I wasn’t going to, we were just in bed… not everything you do in a bed is sexual, George.”

“Shut up,” George mumbled, able to breathe again with his jumper off, dangling in Will’s hands.

“Anyway - just sort of… told him I liked it, what we are, I suppose. He just sort of agreed and I told him what his mum said-”

“Bold move, that is.” Will perked up, manoeuvring George onto the other side of the sofa, hands pressing against his waist to help him fall against the cushions.

“Yeah… it just sort of came out… didn’t mean to tell him ‘oh your mum thinks I like you’, but then I did and it was fine. He didn’t say he felt the same, but it was implied, y’know?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s nice, James is-”

Will laughed, “Yeah, we know mate - we are all friends with him too.”

“Shut up,” Alex blushed, clinging to his legs, “It was nice though, all of it really… nice to see his mum too.”

“You think you’re official then?” George mumbled, “You and James… not you and his mum…”

Will laughed, shaking his head as he tugged off George’s trainers.

Alex just buried his head in his hands, “Yeah… I’d say so.”

George tried to smile, arms patting Alex in some sort of ‘welcome home, happy you have a boyfriend’ type way. Alex just shook his head, looking up at Will, mouthing something George didn’t catch.

“He’s drunk,” Will said bluntly. George looked up at him, pouting. “Don’t argue with me, George mate, you know you are.”

George frowned, nodding slowly. “Yeah…”

“We went out with Gee and her mates for a bit,” Will explained “George… Well, George had a bit… yeah.” Will said, looking at him fondly. George focused on the window, unable to face it.

George shut his eyes, sighing as he curled up against the arm of the sofa, thinking of tea and thinking of Will. “Make us a cup of tea, would you?”

Will snorted, shuffling around the room, sounding far away by the time he responded, “I’m not your slave.”

George smiled, remembering the words, the feelings. He felt sick - dizzy, everything catching up to him. He smiled, feeling the devastation surrounding him. He smiled, hearing Will flick the kettle on.

He cracked his eyes open when he heard Alex stand up, bones cracking as he stretched, socks shuffling against the floor as he went to join Will in the kitchen.

George sighed, thinking he should go join them. He didn’t in the end. He sat, looking out the window, streetlamps and reflections in the dark. He smiled, thinking he liked it like this, where he felt invisible, where he didn’t have to face who he was.

“Is he alright?” George heard Alex whisper underneath the hum of the kettle.

George tilted his head, listening to Will’s response, he assumed they thought he couldn’t hear, “I’m a bit worried… I think he’s all… y’know.”

George frowned, wishing he didn’t have to make Will worry. He remembered the pulses through his stomach when he looked at him, when he thought the world fucked.

“Yeah,” Alex sighed, noises covered by mugs clashing together. “Is he still lonely?”

“He’s said that’s not it, and I don’t think it is, not anymore, at least,” Will replied.

Someone poured the tea, all steam and smoke. “Yeah… I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow, maybe.” Alex said. Someone clicked the kettle back onto the stand.

“Maybe, yeah.” Will agreed.

George waited and waited for words to be said. He stared out the window and saw a blank canvas in the sky, impossible colours hidden under navy clouds. He smiled, thinking he didn’t know anything anymore, he wondered if it was the alcohol or if that was who he was now.

“You can go home, if you want.”

George froze, frowning.

“I’ll look after George…”

George tilted his head, feeling like a child, feeling small. He wanted to call out he didn’t need someone watching him, but in the end, he didn’t, he stayed silent, staring out the window to another world.

“Yeah,” Will said slowly. George felt something ache in his chest.

He didn’t want Will to leave, he realised gently. He felt good with him there, like he knew something certain in his life. Like all along he was the safety pin holding him together. George shook his head, clenching his eyes, everything coming in floods.

Will wasn’t his; he had his own life, his own commitments - things that weren’t George.

George sighed, thinking he was drunk and sad and looking for comfort in something endless. He felt stupid, like he was fourteen again and everything felt weighted. He’d see Will tomorrow, barely twelve hours away, they had plans to film, so it wasn’t like he was walking out the door forever.

“Here,” Will broke him out of his thoughts, handing him the Hello Kitty mug. He smiled at him, feeling warm.

George shuffled around the sofa, sipping at something scolding, “Thank you,” he said slowly, quiet in the night.

Everything happened around him fast: Will pulling his shoes back on, hands stroking through his hair in a goodbye, Alex coming to sit back next to him, and Will shutting the door behind him.

“Did you wanna sleep?” Alex said eventually, scrolling through his phone while George looked out the window.

“I suppose,” George sighed, rubbing at his eyes, feeling pent up, his blood bouncing around his veins. “Yeah…”

“You alright?”

George slouched heavy in the sofa, “Not really,” he admitted slowly, waiting for something to happen, consequences neverending. Nothing did, in the end.

Alex looked at him, all doubt and worry in his eyes, “Get some sleep, yeah? We’ll have a chat tomorrow.”

George sighed again, forcing himself onto the ball of his feet, wishing he had Will’s hand to steady him. “Yeah,” George agreed, humming something along a goodnight before stumbling to his room.

He landed heavily on his mattress, absorbing the weight of his body, leaving him with his mind. George sighed, scrolling through his phone, staring at Will’s contact before he shut it off. He clicked on some music, something he’d never heard of, and shut his eyes, trying to forget, for a little while.

\--

George stumbled into the living room, still half asleep, ready to pester Will until he woke up with him, until he realised he was gone. Although he wasn’t really gone - he was just at his flat, a couple of roads away, if that. The point was that he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there with his legs sprawled out like he wasn’t six foot something, his arms waving and gesturing like some animation, and he wasn’t there with his pillow. The blanket was left though, thrown over the back of the sofa, all creased and lived in.

George felt his shoulders slump, a chill running up his spine. He thought it stupid to leave bed without socks on. He tiptoed into the kitchen before he remembered Will wasn’t a couple of metres away and he wasn’t likely to wake him up. He sighed, thinking he would be quiet for Alex’s benefit, it made a change, if nothing else.

He pulled out a mug from the cupboard, the stick men, this time. George flicked on the kettle, wondering if four in the morning was too early for tea. He decided it wasn’t, the hum endless in the background as he fluttered around trying to tidy.

The tea was poured soon enough, left to brew while George thumbed the handle of the ceramic. He couldn’t help but feel like he was losing it entirely.

He fixed himself some milk, stirring it mindlessly, his head a world away. Somewhere with utopia and none of this.

George took the drink and sat down, running on automatic as he burnt his tongue. He wished he hadn’t gotten so drunk the night before, that it hadn’t woken him up at four in the morning like it always did. He flicked through his phone, taking one end of the sofa, legs curled up to his chest.

He drank his tea and fucked around on Twitter. He opened Will’s contact before thinking himself hopeless. George wondered if it was normal to miss a mate like he did. Because he did - miss him. Terribly.

Rustling came from Alex’s room, George smiled, thinking he was happy he was back, there was just something missing - that feeling of the impossible. George rubbed at his face, pressing his fingers into his eyelids before opening them again and staring at the stickmen.

George sighed, thinking he really had lost it, looking for meaning somewhere there was none.

“You’re up early-”

“Fucking hell, mate.” George jumped, narrowly avoiding spilling the tea across the sofa. “Give us some warning next time.”

Alex just grinned, “Yeah.” He walked over to the kitchen, pouring himself some water, menial sounds filling the silence.

George went back to his phone, sighing at Will’s contact before he turned his phone off. “What are you doing up then?”

“Just heard you shuffling, thought I’d come and say hello… that’s all,” Alex shrugged, coming to sit the other side of the sofa, curling up to face George straight on. He tried not to feel under investigation.

“Oh, sorry, if I woke you-”

“Nah, you’re alright… wanted a drink anyway,” Alex shuffled on the sofa, getting comfy, eyes burning holes into George’s skin.

George sat fidgeting, wondering when the blow was going to come. He soon realised he could bring it on himself, “I heard you and Will, you know… last night, in the kitchen… ‘bout me.”

“Oh,” Alex said softly, not thoroughly surprised, more intrigued.

George didn’t reply; he didn’t know if he had to.

“How’ve you been then? Y’know, with everything,” Alex continued eventually.

George looked around, searching for some sort of escape route. There wasn’t one. He didn’t think it fair to walk straight out the door, or even to make the excuse that he needed the bathroom.

“Fine,” George mumbled, staring into his lap, “Yeah… ‘s been okay.”

Alex frowned. George could see him from the side of his eye. “Alright… are you sure? It’s alright to talk about it.”

George sighed, “I don’t know… just been a bit… you know, all over the place, and all.”

Alex hummed, waiting for him to speak, as if there was going to be more. George caved, in the end.

“I thought I was lonely, at first…”

“Yeah?” Alex mumbled, tilting his head, “Is it something else now?” Alex asked, seeming like he already knew the answer. George supposed he did, really. He was easy to read, after all.

George sat there, words strangling him in his throat. It wasn’t a difficult question, just a difficult answer. He sat there and looked out of the window, wondering why no one ever shut the curtains.

“How was James’ mum?” George asked instead, his voice scratchy like he’d swallowed barbed wire.

Alex frowned, tilting his head, sighing before he answered, “Good actually, yeah… was good to talk to James and all. I don’t think he’s wrapped his head around this idea of dating yet, but he’s getting there - he knows that’s what it is, he just doesn’t want to deal with it… not yet.”

George smiled, the attention diverted. “That’s good though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alex’s lips turned up into a smile, “His mum’s nice too you know… very cuddly, but nice.”

George snorted, “Big step, meeting the mum-”

“Shut up,” Alex poked him with his toes, “Can’t believe she fucking called me out on liking him - like… am I that obvious?”

George raised his eyebrows, staring at him.

Alex sighed, “Alright yeah, but… she didn’t have to say anything.”

“If you’re eye-fucking her son, I’m pretty sure she was gonna say something-”

“I didn’t eye-fuck him!” Alex protested, arms waving aimlessly. “I just… admired him from afar.” Alex slumped with George’s gaze. “Yeah… he’s fit, that’s all.”

“Yeah, you’ve gone mushy,” George laughed, Alex just shook his head in defeat.

“Maybe I have, maybe I like it… like him,” Alex softened, getting quieter. He picked at his nails, looking down, all sheepish.

George smiled gently, stretching out his legs to poke him with his toes, “I’m happy for you, really mate.”

Alex nodded all soft into his lap. George thought himself a shit friend to have missed all of this, only catching on less than a week ago when it was spelt out right in front of his eyelids.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, you know, realise… before all this. Would’ve helped you talk to him, and whatever… I don’t know.”

Alex looked up and snorted, “I don’t think I even realised - we’ve been fucking for a while though… I just… didn’t really realise the whole feelings thing, until lately.”

“Yeah?” George managed to murmur, tilting his head, smiling gently, trying not to feel guilty for not getting there sooner.

Alex hummed, signalling the conversation over. George felt his fists clench into balls, something of a nervous habit, by this point. He could sense the conversation looping back around to the start, the silence weighted, counting down until Alex asked him again.

George didn’t really want to discuss it - how he was, because he wasn’t sure he knew himself. He knew something felt out of place, sometimes. He knew that he was struggling to come to terms with something that felt monumental. He knew that it all got a little further away when he was around Will. George wasn’t sure he knew anything else, at least for certain.

He sighed, thinking he should bite the bullet and get it over with. His head spun around in circles, thinking of some vast escape plan through the window - all undercover in the night, fading into the black. He thought about something else, to distract Alex with, to hold it off for a little bit longer.

“You’re… bi, yeah?” George mumbled, blurting out the words without even thinking. George recoiled, his muscles tensing; he supposed this was a different approach, if nothing else.

Alex narrowed his eyes, George tried not to notice. “Yeah… That’s why we just had a conversation about James - my supposed boyfriend.” Alex looked confused, George stared blankly at the wall - the window looking too tempting to climb down like some rapunzel manoeuvre. “Any reason why you’re asking that now?”

George opened his mouth, shut it again, finally finding the words he wanted laying heavy in his chest, “How did you figure it out?”

Alex stared for a moment, his eyes on George’s. George’s eyes on the wall. He felt like he was the entertainment, like some circus performer, he thought he should go get something to juggle, considering the weight of the spotlight.

Suddenly Alex’s eyes changed, the atmosphere jarring. George couldn’t breathe, like all the oxygen was being drained out the room. He supposed Alex understood. He was terrified.

George sucked in a breath, something desperate and shaky.

“There was this pretty boy in year nine, I think it was, he was like all legs, nice smile - the works, y’know?” Alex shuffled, getting comfy. “I don’t think he was gay, I think he was just nice and we were young, y’know - experimental. I kissed him behind the gym, it wasn’t like… it wasn’t magical, but it was like… I knew, I guess.”

George’s eyes flickered to the window, wondering if it was too late to escape.

“I didn’t really do anything about it, for a while at least,” Alex continued, “I was scared, I suppose, looking back. And there was no one there I wanted, really. So I just carried on, until I got to like… sixteen, maybe seventeen, and I realised properly, that it was who I was.”

The words were sung across the room, biting into George’s skin like insects, all poison and fear. George tensed his fists, eyes jumping around the room, landing on Will’s blanket. He sat there, looking, and then he snatched it with one hand and tucked it over his lap. He blamed it on being cold.

Alex paused, letting George get settled.

“It’s just been like that ever since really, finding girls and boys nice, both.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, messing with the strands at the ends of his fringe, all fucked from his pillow. He shrugged, all loose like it was simple, easy.

George sighed, his insides burning, lungs shrivelling with the smoke. He opened his mouth to respond, failing to find the words he wanted.

Alex sat there waiting, unassuming, unjudging. George looked at him properly, feeling terrified of the truth, of confessing. Everything.

“I think…” George started, tapering off.

“Yeah?”

“I think boys are pretty,” George whispered, the words shattering the air like glass. Everything still, untouchable in case of blood and scars.

Alex said nothing; George didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

George lost his breath, gasping for air when there was nothing but feeling. He felt invisible hands at his throat, choking him. Claustrophobic, the walls caving in, the world getting smaller. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to imagine something different.

He thought of the fields, all the greens, the blues - something pretty, something that wasn’t going to suffocate him. The cinema wall with something invisible that only George could see. Will with all his stupid floppy hair and his laugh. George thought of something else, something good, and tried to calm down.

Alex’s hands were around his shoulders when he fell back into reality, his fingertips against his collarbones, his body wrapped around his side, all warm and comforting. George kept his arms by his sides, his fists clenched, unable to move.

He tried to take a breath, make the room open up again but the damage was done. The words were out in the open, something unmistakable, unmissable. It was clear as day, nothing hidden. George felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and placed on show in a museum for all to see.

He gasped for air, feeling Alex’s fingers stroking through his hair, all gentle and repetitive. He tried to bring himself back down, see something further than the words. George tried to remember where he was, sat on the sofa, the stick man mug on the coffee table, the blanket on his lap, everything where it had always been.

“It’s alright,” Alex whispered gently, “Mm?”

George stayed silent, unable to open his mouth even if he wanted to.

“It’s alright,” Alex said again, “It’s gonna be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.”

George inhaled, choking on the air. Alex’s fingers kept separating strands, his body tight around his left-hand side, everything quiet besides the cars and the sirens, they were something constant, unchanging.

“Who am I?” George stuttered, the panic wearing away slowly, the remnants trapped in his chest under lock and key. The exhaustion was setting in now, something about a night drinking and waking up at four in the morning. “Who am I?” George said again, louder, searching for answers, feeling like he was lost in a sea of sounds.

“You’re you,” Alex whispered, his arms adjusting, slouching next to his side, leaning into his shoulder. “You’re George, the same as always.”

“I’m not though,” George fought, his body paralyzed against the sofa, against the warmth of Alex’s body. He only felt cold.

Alex squeezed George’s arm, “You are… You’re George, same as you were, same as you are.”

George kicked out his legs, trying to feel free, back to himself, he let them dangle, toes brushing against the floor. He felt stupid for not putting socks on, thinking Will would’ve told him he’d freeze.

“Everything feels different,” George stumbled. He was trying to deal with it, the aftermath and the acceptance. He felt horrified, shivering down to bone, his head pounding behind his eyes. He was terrified, but he didn’t think it was going away by ignoring it.

Alex hummed, understanding, “Yeah, it probably will… It’s not though - different, I mean. It’s not different, even though it feels it.”

“Who am I, if I’m not me?” George repeated, clearer this time. Despaired rather than desperate.

“You’re George, the irritating dickhead who I share an apartment with, sadly.” Alex joked. George snorted weakly. “You’re George,” Alex said again, purposefully louder, “You’re still you, even if you’re not who you thought you were.”

George took in a breath weakly, caving into Alex’s shoulder.

“You’re still you.” Alex said again, arms wrapped around George like an anchor.

“Yeah?” George mumbled, turning into Alex, his fists falling until his fingers were splayed across his legs.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding against his side. “You might not know it, but I do.”

George sighed, still feeling heavy, but instead carrying less. He supposed it was better. It was something. He supposed that was all he could ask for, really.

\--

It’d been stuck in his head all day. George went back to sleep eventually, him and Alex parting at their doorways. He went back to sleep with Will’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders, fingertips clinging to the fabric.

He’d finished a video that morning, something he tried to be proud of - he thought maybe he was, in the end. It took his mind off it all, at least for a little while. But it always came back, it was always stuck in his head.

George knew Alex wasn’t looking at him differently, and by two in the afternoon he wasn’t looking at him at all: he’d gone to James’ for the afternoon. But George still felt the weight of a thousand blinking eyes on his every move.

The words spun around his head - his admission, confession. The truth.

George sighed, looking at the footage he’d filmed, clipped in Adobe. He felt stuck, all trapped in this room again. Alex was out, Will was back home. George was left alone in his head and he didn’t know what to do.

He thought about going out, to the fields and the swings, but it didn’t quite feel the same without Will, all bouncy by his side. George clenched his fists, wondering if he was becoming reliant. He tilted his head, thinking about filming another video, fucking around on Twitter looking for topics.

In the end, he did nothing, lying back on his bed with Will’s blanket trapped under his back, screwed up with his duvet. He got his phone out again, sighing as he looked at Will’s contact, thinking himself desperate. He clicked off it, opening Twitter again, closing it, opening it again.

He sighed, kicking himself off the bed, staring longingly at the blanket and his laptop, Will’s wires still coiled on his desk. George turned his back, spinning on his heels and heading for the alcohol.

Georg knew it wasn’t productive, he wasn’t getting anywhere. His head was fucked regardless, but it was lesser now, more of a hum than a siren. George pressed play on some playlist, something mopey and atmospheric, he held his head in his hands, his feet rocking against the floor, the curtains pulled open for the world to see.

He left his phone on the counter, the music fading as George walked towards the window. He held his palm up, opening the latch, breathing in something smokey and fresh.

George stood there looking out into the hazy darkness. He wondered how time had passed so quickly, he supposed, in the end, it was lost somewhere between the first and fourth drink.

He looked out and he didn’t feel scared, George realised slowly, the thoughts delayed somewhere in the blur. He saw the street lamps all warm and yellow, miniature fires burning in the distance, cars zooming past and sirens blaring.

He looked out and he smiled, feeling warm in the cold. His chest was tight with fear but the outside, the outside was something of a haven. George thought it weird how fast things changed. This time he was more scared of himself than what was outside.

George turned away, leaving the window open, drums from his phone floating through the air, twirling through like smoke, hazing into George’s conscious. He danced carelessly, his feet mindless, thinking himself stupid as he went to pour himself another drink.

He smiled, thinking he felt good, maybe not fully there, outlines in his head still undefined, but he thought he felt good. George wondered if it was the alcohol.

It was the same thing though, that feeling, something missing. George slumped on the sofa, his head moving to a song he didn’t recognise. He wondered what Will was doing, if he had plans. George shook his head, shutting his eyes, thinking he couldn’t be that hopeless.

George considered going out, thinking of the neon lights, the bass loud. Then he remembered the night before, the breakdown in the bathroom, clinging onto Will, getting home, talking to Alex. He supposed the club was what caused all this, really. He supposed it wasn’t smart to go back the night after, he didn’t think it was that healthy either.

George sighed, his head lost in a thousand memories. He shut his eyes and let himself think of the pretty boys. He thought it the alcohol, making him make stupid decisions. He thought maybe he didn’t mind, not this time.

He thought about the club, the pretty boys under neon lights, pints in hands. Pretty sounds spilling out of his bathroom. Pretty pictures blurred across the empty wall in the cinema. Everything pretty. Will.

George stood up suddenly, realising his glass was empty. He went to fill it before he stopped in his tracks. He checked the time, something past eleven. George knew it was stupid when he dragged his shoes on, when he opened the door and forgot his keys, but he carried on regardless.

He took the stairs down, too antsy to wait for the lift. He tapped his feet, fingers trailing against the air as he walked cold in the night. London looked pretty at night, all colours in the black. George smiled, wobbling as he got to the tower.

It was stupid, irrational, everything that went with mental, but he did it anyway. George knew he was drunk, out of his mind, feeling things he wouldn’t admit in daylight. But he was there regardless, his fist knocking on the door similar to his own, fingers wrapping against wood until it opened carefully.

Will opened it slowly, narrowing his eyes when he saw George. George frowned, wanting a better reception.

“There are pretty boys,” George blurted out, not waiting for Will to speak. They weren’t the words he meant to say, but they fell off his tongue regardless.

It was still scary, the second time. The alcohol lessened the impact, but George still recoiled. The words were like laced knives.

“You wanna come in?” Will said, unsurprised. George frowned, stumbling through the door. “You alright? Look a bit… drunk.”

George snorted, limbs floppy by his sides, hearing Will shut the door behind him. He supposed this was where he actually faced it. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“You been out?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows, as if George had never said anything. He got him a glass of water, his eyes warm as he passed him the cup.

“Oh, thanks.” George murmured, sipping gently, wobbling on his heels, remembering Will asked a question, “Oh… no. I’ve just been ‘round the flat. Alex went out with James so I stole some of his drink.”

Will laughed, “Two nights in a row, idiot, maybe that wasn’t a good plan.” He pushed George gently at the waist towards the sofa, George dragged his feet and obliged.

“Two nights?”

“Drinking - two nights drinking, in a row.” Will clarified, sitting on the arm, plumping the cushion behind George’s back. George let him, his limbs unable to move.

“Thanks,” George murmured, flopping back against the pillows, letting the weight of everything drag him into the cushions.

“I would’ve come over if you were lonely mate,” Will snorted, standing and tidying biscuits off the table. “S’no fun drinking alone.”

George pouted, his shoulders melting, “Didn’t wanna bother you-”

Will gave him a look, shutting him up, “George, mate - I stayed with you all week, I wouldn’t get sick of you after I leave.”

“You never know,” George shrugged. “S’alright that I came over though?”

 

“Course it is, dickhead.” Will flopped on the other side of the sofa, toes poking under George’s thigh, “You alright though? Really?”

George hummed, nodding softly, suddenly scared. “Yeah…”

“What’s this ‘bout blokes then?” Will prompted eventually, smiling at him carefully, playing with his hoodie strings.

George sighed, clenching his fists. He felt it easier this time, something about the alcohol or Will made it better. George didn’t know which one made it better.

“Just… Been thinking lately,” George snuck a glance up at Will, all soft and warm. “‘Bout it all.”

“Yeah?” Will tilted his head, pulling his hood up over his hair. George thought he looked nice, like that.

George looked down at his lap, kicking his feet out at the floor, “Yeah… They’re just… pretty.”

Will hummed, all gentle and coaxing, like he was waiting for George to say something. When he didn’t he nudged his toes under his thigh, George thought he should carry on, considering he’d brought this on his doorway.

“Like… you know the blokes from the club?”

Will raised his eyebrows, “There’s been multiple?”

George frowned, “No… well - yeah. The first one you pointed out, remember?”

“Yeah.”

George shrugged, “Went out again a week later, if that. There was this like… fit tall lad, he was nice.”

Will smiled, all soft, “Yeah? Any others - any conquests?”

“Shut up,” George mumbled, looking down at his fingers, “I told Alex last night… think I had a bit of a breakdown.”

“You alright now?” Will asked, untucking his feet, shuffling closer, pressing his shoulder against George’s. George felt his warmth immediately.

George felt his cheeks run pink as he tucked his head into Will’s neck. He blamed it on the alcohol. “Yeah… you’re not as scary.”

Will floundered, George wondered if he’d said something wrong. “I’m big ‘nd scary, I am.” Will protested gently, lacking everything relating to meaning.

“Yeah,” George agreed, snorting into Will’s neck, “Course you are.”

“It’s okay though,” Will hummed, leaning his head on top of George’s, fabric against his skin. “I’m sorry you broke down.”

“S’not your fault.” George shrugged, nestling in closer, thinking he was warm here, all cosy, like Will was familiar, part of the furniture. “Oh… I still have your blanket,” George remembered suddenly.

Will just laughed, “Keep it-”

“Come and get it,” George said, swallowing a pill of confidence, “Tomorrow?”

“If you want,” Will mumbled, slouching against the cushions, letting his body fall into George’s.

George hummed, nodding into Will’s hoodie. He let his eyes close gently. He didn’t feel scared, he realised again. He thought the concept terrifying, something out of a nightmare, but he supposed with Will by his side, it wasn’t quite so bad.

It’d been in his head all day, itching like a rash. He supposed it better getting it out - better with Will. George thought he always made him feel better, really. He thought him nice. He nestled further into Will’s neck, a faint smell of aftershave lingering against the fabric. George thought it nice; he couldn’t describe it really, but it was nice.

“Is Gee in?” George asked in the end, tucking his knees up to rest against the sofa, nudging against Will’s thighs. It all felt so peaceful here, like there was less of George’s brain scattered around the floor. Instead, it was all neat in lines between his skull - like it should be. It felt good, it felt normal.

“Nah, don’t think she’ll be back tonight,” Will murmured, all soft. George liked it, he supposed.

George smiled, all slurred words and alcohol limbs. He nodded in the end, digging his chin into Will’s shoulder.

“You want anything?” Will asked, his hands in his lap, phone buzzing on the table, forgotten, in the moment.

“Nah… sorry for - you know, disturbing your night and all.”

“S’alright.” Will shrugged, disrupting George’s neck. He huffed gently, Will laughed. “This is better anyway.”

George smiled numbly, feeling something bubbling in his chest. This tightness he couldn’t account for. That feeling he’d been missing all day. He thought he liked it, with Will. He thought maybe he was getting attached. He thought it all stupid, but decided to think about it in the morning.

“I’m gonna get the laptop, yeah?” Will nudged gently. George’s eyes lost outside the window, a view so similar to his own, just a different perspective. “We can put something on.”

“One of those soppy romcoms?” George asked, pouting as Will pulled away, standing up.

Will just laughed, “I thought you hated those?”

George frowned, “Yeah…”

Will snorted, shaking his head before he walked off. He disappeared into his room and George fluttered around tidying the table. Lifting up coasters, putting them down. Moving the biscuits to an angle. He made space for the laptop in the end, falling back against the sofa as Will came back in.

“Will? Do you have another blanket?”

Will raised his eyebrows, “You stole it, George mate. We just had this chat that I’d come and get it tomorrow-”

“You don’t have another one?” George frowned, resting his neck against the cushions, watching Will upside down wandering around the kitchen.

“Nah,” Will put the laptop down, setting it all up, “You want me to get the duvet?”

“Yeah,” George pounced, face lit up. “Please.”

Will looked at him funny. George frowned, lacking understanding.

“Yeah, alright,” Will said in the end, standing up again to get the duvet.

He returned with something of a white cloud. George snorted, “It looks like it’s eaten you.”

“You’re the one who wanted it-”

“You offered!” George exclaimed, laughing as he watched Will struggle.

Will threw it at him when he was close enough, drowning George in the duvet, all soft, too big for himself. He smiled, fingertips clinging as Will sat down, starting a movie. He threw it over Will too, huddled up to his neck, the duvet overlapping their legs, draping onto the floor.

“You comfy now?” Will snorted, words overlapping the intro.

George pouted, his head poking out of the duvet, his fingers clinging to the warmth. He nudged himself closer, legs pressing against Will’s side, resting his head back on his shoulder, chin into his collar bone, “Yeah… now I am.”

“Idiot,” Will shook his head. George just smiled, looking out the window before looking back at the screen. It all felt endless, like he was in control of something he wanted. He looked at Will, fingers creeping, clinging to the pocket of his hoodie.

He looked up at him through his eyelashes, looking at their reflections in the laptop as the screen went black and the movie started. George smiled, thinking Will looked pretty.

The world didn’t stop, the sun didn’t fall out of the sky, the stars didn’t burst. Nothing crumbled, like George thought it would.

Will looked pretty.

George inhaled a breath, slow and steady, forcing air into his lungs. He let his limbs mould against Will, his body caving until it was just his head and his heart and the remains of a skeleton. He was terrified, his fists clenched under the duvet, into Will’s hoodie.

But he remembered where he was, who he was with - tried to find a semblance of himself, somewhere in the mix. He looked out the window and heard sirens and cars, everything the same, but different. The room around him - different furniture, same floor plan.

Will looked pretty, George thought slowly. Everything falling into place, pieces strewn across the room. He looked pretty. The kind of pretty that the word couldn’t sum up. George thought about the boy - the boys, in the club, thinking they were pretty, thinking this different.

He thought about Will, all smiles and laughs, ruffled hair and hats with holes. He thought about him and thought him pretty. George supposed the boys in the club were specs in comparison.

George shook his head, thinking himself drunk, thinking himself soppy and confused, thinking it would all make sense in the morning.

George let his eyes shut gently, feeling delicate - about to break. He saw Will behind his eyelids. He looked pretty. George felt tangled, stuck in knots. He supposed it was all unravelling in front of him, bit by bit. George didn’t mind it, not really. He thought it different - acceptance.

\--

“George… George - I’ve got tea.”

Sighs sounded like echoes, everything blurred and hazy.

“Wake up, you idiot.”

George felt the headache before he’d even opened his eyes. He felt someone nudging at his arm, prodding until George uncovered his hands and rubbed at his face.

“What?” George mumbled, all confused, lights bright like stars when he opened his eyes.

Will was looking at him, narrowed eyes, “Normally you never sleep well after drinking - this time, you could barely wake up.”

George frowned, shuffling, suddenly remembering where he was. His body went all stiff, his eyes wide, the duvet tossed across his lap.

“Oh…” He said slowly, everything coming together in pieces. “Fuck-”

“You alright?” Will asked, standing up, his hoodie creased and his hair fucked.

George frowned, “Yeah - sorry.” He stood up, bones cracking as he tossed the duvet to the side. “What… what time is it?”

Will tilted his head, looking at his phone briefly, “Like half ten… in the morning.”

George sighed, everything still feeling like a dream, like he’d gotten stuck somewhere else. “I can leave, if you want - sorry… didn’t mean to stay over.”

Will frowned, stumbling, “You’re alright… I made tea, thought you’d want to drink it before you complained ‘bout it being cold.”

George looked up, his feet stuck on the floor, looking at Will properly. His head spun and the world felt dizzy but Will was in focus. George thought he looked pretty. Everything stopped, for a moment, everything flooding back to him in double speed.

“Oh,” George said, swearing under his breath, his hands clenched at his sides, his body feeling fidgety. He had all the pieces, he just couldn’t arrange it, not yet.

“Gonna get your tea then? Or you gonna make me bring it to you.”

George snapped his neck up, looking at him like the words were foreign, before he remembered reality. He tried to drag him out of a world of pretty boys in clubs, pretty girls on Instagram - Will, in front of him. George clenched his fists, nothing feeling real in the morning light.

“Yeah,” George hummed, his voice quiet and croaky. He rocked on his feet, still feeling drunk.

Will sighed. George looked up. “Here,” Will said, turning back, handing him a mug, “You weren’t gonna move… so…”

“Oh,” George mumbled, clasping the mug between two fists, trying not to drop it. “Thanks.”

Will collapsed on the sofa, pushing the duvet to the side. He carried on as normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

George supposed in reality, maybe it hadn’t. He supposed maybe it was all okay to the blind eye, but in his head, it felt a world away. He thought Will was pretty - blaming it on the dark nights, the alcohol, something that wasn’t cognitive. But in the daylight, in the morning, half ten, he couldn’t.

George looked at him on the sofa, hands cradling a mug, his feet kicked up on the table, still looking half asleep. George looked at him and thought he was pretty. He looked at him clearly, without the guise of alcohol, without the green and the blues, the empty picture ready to be painted. He looked at him properly, and thought he looked beautiful.

George froze, his limbs stuck, the tea warming his hands. He stood still, thinking he looked pretty, thinking he couldn't do anything to make it better.

“You just gonna stand there? Or…”

George scurried to sit down, trying not to splash tea across his palms. He clung to his mug like a life source and sat back down again. It was the same place he’d sat last night, where he’d rested his head on Will’s shoulder and fell asleep. George shivered, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He thought this morning was the awakening, everything coming into focus clearly again. George wasn’t under any illusions this time, nothing blurring his judgement besides a headache and something digging between his chest.

George sipped at his tea, his body on automatic, his limbs wooden like a wind-up toy. Will sat next to him, all rumpled from sleep, obviously having slept next to him. George clenched the mug between his fingers, everything getting on top of him.

He supposed he knew all of this before - in the cinema, looking at him, at the club when he pulled him home. George supposed he should’ve seen this coming, this onslaught of emotions that he was thoroughly unprepared for. But he hadn’t.

It was all feelings without words, everything flooding his system at once. All he could think was Will looked pretty, it was on repeat throughout his conscious, he couldn’t make sense of anything else. He didn’t know how to.

“You sleep well then?” Will asked, slicing through the silence.

George jumped, his eyes flickering around the room like he shouldn’t be in it. “Yeah… thanks - sorry for, you know… falling asleep ‘nd all.”

Will just snorted, “As if I mind, you got me out of me emails for a couple of hours.”

“Don’t wanna stop you doing work though,” George murmured slowly, “Don’t wanna make you get behind.”

“Nah, you won’t. I’m good, I am.” Will grinned. George felt something sinking through his chest. “Speaking of though, did you wanna do something today?”

George froze, bringing his mug to his lips, pausing an inch away. “What?”

Will narrowed his eyes, turning to stare at him. He kicked his feet up under his legs. “We should go out.”

George tried to remember how to swallow, gulping a mouthful of tea, carefully avoiding choking. He frowned, feeling something tight in his chest - that same feeling. George looked out the window and saw a world he didn’t recognise.

He couldn’t think straight, he didn’t know if he ever would again. He knew it was the same - the overdramatized misery. But George couldn’t see it any differently. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Will looking at him. He looked away, wincing. He looked so pretty.

George didn’t think he could deal with it. He snapped his gaze to the window and stared, watching raindrops fall against the glass. He thought it fitting, while everything was falling apart. He didn’t hear any cars, any sirens - he just heard buzzing. His head thrumming with vibrations he couldn’t define.

“Is there anywhere you wanna go?” Will asked, slamming his mug down on the table with a jolt, he swore, apologising gently.

George sighed, feeling his heart thrumming in his throat. He didn’t think he could, he didn’t feel right - didn’t feel good. But he was helpless. George looked out the window and remembered the fear, thinking it was easier without all this.

“No,” George rubbed at his eyes, abandoning his tea, placing it on the table, half full - still warm. He looked at their mugs. They weren’t the same stick men and Hello Kitty. Instead, Will’s was a Batman mug and George’s had the Twilight wolf on the side. George smiled in spite of himself. “I don’t know…”

“Well, I need more tea, ‘cos those were the last teabags.” Will laughed jokingly. He didn’t mean it, George could tell, but George found himself nodding regardless.

He stared at the mug in front of him, big fluffy wolf staring back at him. He gulped the rest of the tea back, not wanting to waste it if it was the last one. “Let’s go to Tesco’s then.”

Will frowned, looking at him under his eyebrows, “Really? You wanna go to Tesco’s.”

George shrugged, “Yeah, gets us out the house and gets you more teabags.” He tried to smile, tried to make everything turn back to normal, he didn’t think he could, really. But he could try. “You ready?” George said, staggering to his feet, forgetting he was still fuzzy with something like a hangover.

“What?” Will laughed, disbelieving, “Not even showered yet mate - calm down.”

George stumbled over to the window, holding his palm up against the glass, looking out, everything mirrored from this side of the building. Everything the same but off-centred. George watched the rain trickle down his palm through the glass, his fingers cold, body alive. He was impulsive, overdramatic. It was nothing new.

“George?” Will asked slowly, standing up.

George didn’t turn around, “Yeah?”

“You alright, after last night?”

George snapped his neck, “Huh?”

Will fidgeted, feet shuffling against the carpet, a hole in his sock. “Y’know… ‘bout the sexuality thing, and all.”

“Oh…” George muttered, feeling breathless. In the heat of it all he’d almost forgotten. “Yeah, think so.”

“I wasn’t scary then, in the end?” Will shuffled closer, coming to stand next to him by the window, messing with the hook of the curtain. George thought it looked ready to break, he didn’t say anything.

George tilted his head, resting his shoulder against the glass, looking at a world he could barely recognise. “Nah… you’re -” George stopped, “You weren’t scary…” He said instead, trailing off.

Will smiled, reflecting against the glass under a mop of hair, a scrunched hoodie and a pretty face.

George clenched his fists, “Go shower then,” he turned around, falling back into Will’s flat, into the moment. “Then we can get going.”

Will grinned, toothy as he slid against the floor to put their mugs in the sink. “You don’t wanna let your hangover fuck off a bit before you start? Y’know-”

“Nah,” George interrupted, digging his hands into his pockets, “I’m good.” He smiled, faltering when Will looked at him, faltering when he thought he was pretty.

“Alright then,” Will smiled, eyes burning with a flame of warmth. George felt chilled to the bone.

Will wandered off through his room, dragging the duvet across the floor with him. George watched him, thinking he should help, not daring to move. He felt dizzy, all sick to his stomach - he wished he could blame this on a hangover, he knew it nothing of the sort.

Instead, he sat down, carefully, as if he didn’t want to disturb the memories of the night before. George pulled out his phone, tucking his legs under himself, trying to get comfy. He opened Alex’s messages, thinking of saying something but coming up empty.

He didn’t think he could describe it, it was all dark and twisted, something heated - it was that tightness, George realised. Tight in his throat, down his chest, into his lungs. It was all heat and emotion and something George didn’t want to name.

He clicked out of Alex’s contact, thinking he couldn’t - thinking it’d make it worse.

Instead, he opened Twitter, thumb flicking through his feed like he had something of a purpose, something other than distraction. George sighed, looking around Will’s apartment, things scattered everywhere, nothing in the right place. He spotted their mugs in the kitchen, sitting next to the empty box of tea - Will’s kind.

He smiled, all mopey, feeling like the floor was collapsing under him. He looked away, rubbing at his eyes, desperate to find some sense in himself. George looked back at his lap, at the faint blue of Twitter, and opened a tweet.

@Memeulous: reckon that furry wolf fucker from twilight would be a good sidekick for batman

\--

It was when George stumbled through the sliding doors into Tesco’s, Will in toe, did he realise he didn’t feel quite right.

He’d realised it before, earlier - as soon as he’d woken up. It just didn’t feel as desperate then. Now it was all claws down his throat, scratching his flesh bare. George clenched his fists, following behind Will as he grabbed a basket.

Will said something unimportant, George nodded along, as if it was all normal, like nothing had changed. His nails dug into his palms, trying to forget about it, get away from everything trying to consume him but he couldn’t.

He looked forward, up at Will, staggering after him like it was still eleven at night and he was drunk. But he wasn’t - it was clear as day, bright sun clearing away the remnants of the rain, his mind steady, nothing blurred anymore.

He felt like he couldn’t hide. George yanked his hoodie up, pulling his hood over his hair, hiding his wrists in the sleeves. He let it hang baggy, knowing he looked a mess.

George didn’t bother with much when Will went to shower, just messed around on his phone and cleaned the mugs, in the end, so by the time Will walked out, all clean with a fresh hoodie and jeans, George shrugged and thought they should head off. He didn’t even bother brushing his teeth.

“You staying for dinner? Did we wanna cook, or…” Will mumbled, back facing George, staring at the aisle of vegetables.

George just shuffled on his feet, “Since when do we - you, cook?”

Will snorted, “Yeah,” he said, walking on, swinging the basket by his side, all childlike and free. George tried to copy him, catching up with his feet walking in a straight line. He thought about everything being simple and easy, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“Did you want anything for lunch, ‘cos I guess it’s lunch now, isn’t it?” Will muttered on, “We sort of fucked breakfast, so… lunch?”

George felt antsy. Will turned to look at him, George glanced up, nodding at words he couldn’t make sense of. “Sure?”

Will’s face softened, George just tensed. “What did you want?”

“Huh?”

“For lunch?” Will clarified, a picture of confusion scribbled across his face. George tried to snap himself back into the moment, remember everything he’d forgotten.

“Oh,” he whispered, words lost in a flurry of movement around them. George shuffled to the side, looking around, everything spotless and clean, aisles of food like mazes around them. George supposed he could’ve picked a better place to have a breakdown, if he’d have really thought about it.

“You alright?”

George scuffed his feet on the floor, the faint traces of mud and grass from the fields written into the soles. “Yeah… get us a sausage roll, or something - for lunch.”

Will watched him from under his eyebrows, “Alright, yeah.”

George tried at a smile, looking up to meet Will’s eyes. He thought he looked pretty, he thought he hated himself for it.

Will took the lead, trailing them through fridges and freezers and George thought this evidently wasn’t the right way but didn’t care enough to say. Will bought a two pack of heat up sausage rolls, in the end. George nodded, feeling like he was lost in a trace, something of a dream.

“Teabags, then?” Will asked gently, gesturing wildly with his other hand. George looked at him and saw the world falling apart. He supposed maybe, in the end, the world wasn’t purely lived outside the window.

George nodded slowly, dragging his legs into movement, trying not to choke on things he couldn’t express, let alone word. He followed Will through the aisles, Will looking back to check on him every now and then, concern planted across his face like a stamp.

George hated it - not really, he just couldn’t deal with it. When Will looked at him it just made it worse, towers shattering, sirens glaring. The world fell apart underneath George’s fingertips.

Will stopped, George looked up blindly, raising his eyebrows at the tea, remembering the purpose of all this.

“Which one did you like again?” Will asked, making the world stop, making George feel like his feet were floating somewhere above the ground. George stood still, feeling everything falling apart, he tilted his head, looking at Will, desperate, surrounded by devastation.

George frowned, itching at his eyes, “Huh?”

“Which tea?” Will repeated, stepping closer, raising a hand gently before dropping it again, “Are you alright? You look a bit…”

George shook his head, all vigorous and scared. His hood fell off his curls, his fists clenching in his pocket, his feet stomping, unable to keep still. He stared at rows and rows of teas, his fingers twitching.

Will stepped closer, George stepped back. He laughed desperately, rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Will whispered, stepping closer again, close enough to grab onto George’s hoodie, holding the wrist of it loosely, as if to anchor him.

George looked down, feeling something raw biting at his skin. He looked up and saw Will. All pretty even here. George stepped back suddenly; Will’s hand fell loose by his side.

“Fuck-” George cursed, turning his back, staring out at empty aisles - everything feeling so hectic, fading into nothing. “Fuck… I - I can’t…”

“George,” Will whispered, echoing somewhere George couldn’t identify, “It’s alright, yeah?”

George shook his head, his muscles pulsing and his stomach twisting. He couldn’t focus, his head whirring before his body could catch up. He was ansty standing there, staring at tea, staring at Will.

He couldn’t deal with it, he thought suddenly. He rubbed at his eyes, all harsh and desperate. Will’s fingers laced with his wrists, pulling his hands back down. George watched them fall back to his sides, everything falling in slow motion.

“No - I…” George’s eyes flicked around the room, seeing things falling, boxes of tea spilling off the shelves, teabags falling across the tiles - everything falling apart. But when George opened his eyes again, he didn’t think anything had changed at all

Will held the fabric of his hoodie, his hands underneath. George refused to look up, all tense beneath the layers.

“Wanna get the tea and go home?” Will asked gently, his voice soft - too soft, George thought.

He broke away again, his arms dangling loosely by his sides. George stared up at the mountain of tea. He saw the one he liked, he saw the one Will liked, and he saw their mugs together in Will’s sink - in his sink. George shook his head, refusing to believe anything.

“It’s okay,” Will said again. George shook his head desperately, he was choking, he couldn’t breathe.

George looked up, seeing Will moving out of the corner of his eye. He watched as Will bought the tea he usually did, looking at George all concerned before he put three different types of the brand George liked into his basket.

George opened his mouth, about to protest, about to call this all off. He shut it again wordlessly. Will looked at him under his eyebrows, biting his lip as he said something George couldn’t understand.

George stared into the basket, sausage rolls and tea bags, and he thought himself fucked. “I - I have to… I can’t-”

“George, mate, you’re alright, yeah?” Will tried to reassure him, holding out his hand, “Let’s go pay and get home and it’ll all be alright, yeah?”

“But…” George gestured with his hands, pointing at the basket, “You’ve got three types of fucking tea - Will, I…”

Will just frowned, “I didn’t know which one you had-”

“Fuck,” George swore, clenching his fists, rubbing at his eyes, seeing burning buildings and police cars behind his eyelids. “Fuck-”

“You didn’t look in a good enough state to ask-” Will stuttered, confused, “I didn’t wanna get it wrong.”

George felt the breath leave his chest, all heavy and desperate. He tried to open his mouth, say everything he could think of, but nothing came out.

It was everything all at once, things he’d been pushing down, the greens and the blues, the empty wall of the cinema, the night at the club in the bathroom. It was finding him pretty and thinking the whole world fucked.

“Let’s go home,” Will whispered nervously, “Alright?”

George gestured again, swearing under his breath, his cheeks felt red, the atmosphere smoky with the flames. George supposed it all irrelevant, when the world was crumbling under his feet.

“You don’t look well,” Will said again, holding out his hand, stepping closer. George couldn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. “Let’s go back, and I’ll look after you.”

George stumbled, clenching his fists, falling down something he couldn’t feel. “No - I’m… I’m not feeling good.”

Will just frowned, his eyes warm. George looked up and thought him pretty. He felt wracks of something devastating crushing his ribs.

“I know,” Will tried to hush, calm him down. George looked around him, trying to remember where he was, thinking he’d done this too many times.

“I’m… I’m gonna go back to mine.” George stuttered, his heart falling into the ashes. “I - I’m…”

“I -” Will paused, letting the woman on the loudspeaker make something of an announcement. George huffed a laugh, holding his head in his hands, trying to find a rhythm in her tone. “I don’t want you to be alone,” Will added once the noises had stopped.

George felt matches sparking in his lungs, everything becoming impossible, “No - I’m… I’m fine.” George tried to reassure them both, failing miserably with the look on Will’s face.

George looked down, into the basket, at the sausage rolls, the tea bags. He thought this all backwards. He felt his throat dry, something heavy, something like guilt, setting down. He looked up and thought Will looked pretty, even with worry radiating off him, he thought he looked pretty.

George tried to breathe, remember where he was, who he was with - who he was. He clenched his fists, his fingers twitching, seeing Will’s hand shaking in the open air. He wanted to grab it; he didn’t.

He thought about acceptance, in more ways than one - about everything being simple and easy. George thought this was everything but. He gasped in breaths of air, trying to piece himself back together until he could feel his toes. In the end, it didn’t work, he stared into Will’s eyes, feeling hopeless and desperate for something impossible.

“Take me back,” George whispered, feeling drained, the world in shreds, “Please.” George said, and grabbed onto Will’s hand.

It was silent while Will paid, while Will scurried them onto the tube, while Will pressed the button on the lift, while they stepped outside, hovering by George’s door.

Will had a plastic bag in one hand, George’s hand in the other. Something was sinking in George’s chest with every minute that passed, it was like his organs itched and he couldn’t scratch it without blood. And there was blood everywhere.

George looked at the front door to his flat, he wondered if Alex was in, he wondered if that would make it better or worse.

Will sighed, scuffing his shoes against the floor, George saw the greens and the blues reflected on the soles, just like his own. George smiled, in spite, really. He smiled because he thought it all ruined. The devastation was just lying in rest now, everything crumbled, holding up this fake reality, this facade.

“You sure you don’t wanna come back to mine?” Will asked eventually, swinging the bag, reflecting against the floor. George clenched his eyes shut, feeling the warmth of Will’s hand, thinking it all a big mistake, before he shook his head and let go.

“I’m alright,” George tried to speak, his voice croaky, like he’d inhaled too much smoke, “You go back, yeah? Get yourself… the sausage roll and the tea.” George clenched his fists by his sides, everything lost, nothing making sense

“But…” Will started, trailing off, “They’re yours, come ‘round if you’re hungry, or if you… if you want to talk, or anything.”

George gulped, feeling something horrendous scratching down his spine. He nodded quickly, sneaking a look up at him. He thought he looked pretty. He looked away, looked at his door, fumbled around for his keys before stepping forward.

George didn’t look back until he was the other side of the door, standing with his fingertips clenching the wood for support. Will stood the other side, his shoulder slouched, looking like a statue. George winced, thinking this all his fault.

He shut the door gently, before he could say something stupid, before he could ask Will to keep him company or go back to his, where the view was different and the outlook sunny.

He shut the door, leaning his back against it, waiting until he heard footsteps fade away, the lift dinging before silence resumed. George clenched his eyes shut, wishing he could forget it all, snapping them open and thinking that was a deathwish.

George called out for Alex, getting his phone out of his pocket when there was no answer.

George: u still with james?

Alex answered immediately, George sighed, not knowing if that was better or worse. He supposed he didn’t know anything anymore, not really.

Alex: yeah unless i should come back do u want company

Alex: i dont mind

George clenched his eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t caused any of this, that he didn’t have to deal with it. He toed his shoes off, the soles facing upwards by the doorway as he stumbled to the sofa.

George: nah stay

George: im good

Alex: alright mate lmk if u need anything xx

George stood up again, unable to sit still. He threw his phone back onto the sofa and rubbed at his eyes, trying to pretend he didn’t want to scream and cry and everything in between as he moved across to the kitchen, opening the cupboard,

He clung onto the cabinet; two boxes of tea in front of him, half full, half empty. George sighed, the tightness returning, although this time pressurised. This time it felt like it was going to snap. George inhaled sharply and reached into the box of Will’s tea, throwing a tea bag into the stickman mug and flicking on the kettle to boil.

It felt lonely, his flat, without Will. It was nothing new, but it was defined, pronounced - it felt like something. George tried to zone out, listen to the hum of the kettle, make it alright, back to normal. He realised he couldn’t when it came to the boil and he poured the cup of tea. Will’s tea, in Will’s mug.

George didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t think he could, when it came down to it. His head ran a thousand miles before he could reach for the milk. He thought about the field, Will, he thought about the cinema, Will, he thought about last night, Will.

He poured the milk in the mug, only a splash, not enough for him, too much for Will. George made himself sit down, put the TV on, try and make it all go away - like something of routine. But it didn’t go away. George sat there and squirmed under the afternoon sunshine, the hint of a rainbow taunting him outside the window.

The TV played in the background, something feeling distant, foreign. George was in another world. Something far away - that place where it was all burning, he was still there, in the aisle at Tesco’s, staring at tea, at Will, thinking it all insane.

George’s phone buzzed, he barely registered it. It buzzed again and George snapped his head over. He hadn’t drunk his tea. He didn’t like it. He put it down and picked up his phone instead, the motions robotic, all automatic.

Will: hope ur okay sorry if i did anything

Will: <3

George read the messages over and over until he couldn’t see clearly. His eyes were stained with tears and salt, his vision blurred. He rubbed his eyes, clenching them shut, thinking it wasn’t real if he couldn’t look. But it was, he wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not himself.

George opened his eyes gently, forcing himself to read the messages again. His fingers twitching, typing out a message, deleting it, starting again, deleting it, until he sent something, dropping his phone back on the cushions before he made it worse.

George: not u ahah dont worry just me being stupid

Will: ur not stupid

Will: if its bout what u said last night bout liking blokes its okay

Will: ur okay

Will: here for u xx

George rubbed at his eyes, thinking of Will, thinking of everything. He supposed if he thought about it enough, Will was everything, lately, at least. He felt lackluster, like there was nothing left in him to say. He typed back faster this time, feeling resigned to it.

George: nah just me being idk

George: dont worry ull go insane

Will: u know im gonna worry idiot

Will: come over if u need yeah

Will: ill save ur sausage roll x

George held his head in his hands and felt something rising in his throat. He clenched his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see his vision blurring. He inhaled deeply, practised and rehearsed. He sighed, opening his eyes, looking at his phone before throwing it against the cushions.

He stood up again, nearly knocking over the cup of tea, still full, steam coming off the top. George turned on his heels, staring at the world of cars and sirens, bright daylights keeping nothing hidden.

He supposed he didn’t know who he was anymore. He supposed he knew that long before now, but he supposed it hadn’t held weight until that moment.

George looked at his hands, indents from his nails in his palms. He tried to think of a time when the world wasn’t greens and blues and he didn’t find blokes pretty. He thought he knew who he was then; he didn’t know anything now.

He thought he knew himself until it all started. George tried to find something to blame, thinking about when he blamed this all on loneliness, until Will stepped in. But he couldn’t blame him, not really, no matter how much he wanted to. It wasn’t him, he was just the match that lit the fire.

George stared out of the window and thought it pretty, the greys this time, everything covered in smoke and fire. He smiled desperately, turning his back, shaking his head he abandoned it all for his room.

He closed the door behind him, suddenly washed with memories of that night with the video, the boy fucking the girl. George sighed, feeling vacant. It didn’t fill him with dread, not anymore. He supposed this was acceptance, if he still wanted that.

He forced himself to sit down, all glassy and lifeless. He looked around, feeling like he was watching a different life - although, George knew he was always overdramatic.

The shredded edges of the blanket taunted him from his pillow, a whole world of Will sleeping on the sofa, stealing Alex’s room. George slumped, his body caving in. His fingers danced across the fabric, his face emotionless and blank as he dragged it onto his lap.

George watched as his eyesight blurred over and a choked sound echoed through his throat. He looked down, everything fuzzy like a dream. His fingers clung to the fabric and he watched and waited, feeling like something would happen, something to tell him what to do, how to act, how to feel. But nothing happened.

George sighed, thinking of Will, because it always came back to him, eventually. He was pretty, so fucking pretty - the kind of pretty George didn’t know what to do with. He curled in on himself, wishing the world away.

He was so pretty, George clenched his eyes shut, trying to make it go away. Images of boys in clubs and girls online swarmed his head like insects, but Will was at the centre; George supposed he would always be at the centre.

The tightness in his chest finally snapped, feeling his bones break, tendons torn, the weight of it all pressing into his nerves until it all fell apart. It was only a matter of time, really. George clenched his fists, feeling ripped apart, no one to blame.

He thought of Will, how he’d comfort him, how George would pretend he didn’t want it when he did. He thought about Will and the sausage rolls, the three types of tea he bought just so he wouldn’t get it wrong. He thought about Will and thought him more than just pretty, he thought of Will and thought him cosmic, like the fields, like the cinema, like something impossible.

It wasn’t a minute later when George had booked a train back home to his mum’s. He sighed, clenching his eyes shut, everything feeling too big for him. He opened his texts, staring at Will’s name, his fingers shaking as he clicked away, pressing on his mum instead.

George: coming home for a bit, hope it’s ok

George: train this evening sorry for no warning x

George sighed heavy, feeling snapped in two. He opened Alex next, trying to deal with it before it became unfixable.

George: gonna go see mum for a bit

George: sorry its out of nowhere

George: hope ur good x

He watched the phone screen turn black, dropping it on the blanket, hearing buzzing but having no energy to look. George sat there, his body curled in, the blanket clenched between his fingertips, feeling like someone else. He sat there until he could eventually stand up, throwing things into a bag because it was easy, it was the only way he could do it.

George folded the blanket up neatly, staring at it before he shoved it in his bag, zipping it up and locking it away. He changed his hoodie and his jeans, not wanting the association, not wanting to remember. He found a new pair of shoes, ones that weren’t covered in grass and mud and memories, and headed out the door, he thought it better being hours early than wasting away in his bedroom for any longer.

George sighed, slamming the door behind him, dropping his keys into his bag, cushioned by the blanked. He sighed, thinking he was always overdramatic.

\--

George sat on the train, staring blankly out the window. He watched as the monochrome city faded into something more distant, the greys turning to greens and the blacks turning to blues. George sighed, plugging his headphones in, wishing time away.

His mum welcomed him in with open arms, George tangled with his headphones and his keys as he stumbled through the front door. It was all hugs and warmth and something George didn’t realise he needed.

“I’ve made the spare bed up for you,” George’s mum said, kissing his cheek. George rubbed at his skin, feeling like he’d never grown up at all.

George tried at a smile, dropping his bags in the hallway and following his mum into the kitchen.

“This is a surprise?” She laughed all smiles and happiness, “We weren’t expecting you.”

George sighed, smiling regardless, “Yeah… just - missed home, I suppose.”

“Yeah?” George’s mum smiled, “You want a cuppa?”

George nodded slowly, sitting at the counter, feeling transported into a different world. A world where he was fourteen and thinking about a girl until his cheeks burned red.

He supposed everything was different now. He supposed he was learning who he was. George felt terrified, wishing he could pretend to be who he once knew he was. But sitting there, watching his mum flick the kettle on, the hum filling the air, he supposed he wasn’t that person, not anymore.

George froze; he thought this distant idea of himself was someone he knew - someone real. But confronting it, he supposed he was just growing up, changing, figuring out who he was. George didn’t like it, this concept of growth and acceptance. This idea of change, in front of his eyes.

“Dad’s just getting home,” George’s mum volunteered, tossing two tea bags in the mugs, “I’ve been off lately - did I tell you? I’ve gotten this bad back, God knows what I did… must’ve been something in the garden.” George’s mum trailed off suddenly, “Anyway, I’ve been off so your room should all be sorted - it’s late now, really.”

George hummed along in agreement, the sun setting in the sky, the clock ticking around from five to six. “Dad been okay too, lately?”

“Yeah, yeah - he got a promotion at work… oh, I think I told you that on the phone the other day. Nevermind, but that’s been going well for him… ‘s been working hard and all that.”

George watched his mum pour the kettle, steam floating against the tiles. He frowned, everything felt different, all off kilter. This was home, he thought slowly - his family home. He supposed it was different from being in London, the surroundings changed, little terraces instead of towers.

It was all gardens instead of balconies, roads instead of motorways. George thought it all unfamiliar; he didn’t know what he expected.

“Here you go,” George’s mum said softly, smiling all bright, “Want a biscuit or did you want to wait for dinner? I think we’re having Chinese, is that alright?”

George nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s good… Not eaten much today.”

“Have you not?” George’s mum tilted his head, spinning to get the biscuits, “Go on, before Dad gets back and sees us tucking into his biscuits.”

George felt his shoulders slump, his body caving in as he let his mum dot around the kitchen. He chewed at a biscuit, spilling crumbs across the worksurface like he was four and couldn’t figure out how to keep things in his mouth.

George sighed, accidentally blowing the crumbs across the worksurface. His mum looked at him with hooded eyes, “Think you best clean that up,” she laughed, tossing him a cloth.

George just shook his head, letting life happen around him, the world still spinning even though it felt like it’d stopped.

He drank his tea slowly while his mum tried to find the Chinese menu, exclaiming she couldn’t find the ‘right’ one. He drank his tea slowly, thinking of Will and the three loads of teabags he’d bought earlier. He winced, feeling the pain in his chest again.

He ignored it, finishing off his tea while his mum finally pulled out the menu. George scurried upstairs after that, shoving his bag next to the doorway as he walked in the room. He supposed it all looked the same really, although now it worked a double shift as a spare room, as well as his own.

Everything was still in place, old textbooks at the bottom of the bookshelf, tiny figurines balancing on top. The desk still held scratches of memories written into the surface. George knew he’d visited not that long ago, although it felt like a lifetime standing there, feeling like everything had changed.

He sat on the bed, feeling the springs move under his legs. George smiled, thinking it all so different from what he knew - what he remembered. He thought about perspective and how it made a difference.

He thought about the books on the shelf, scratches in the desk, his mum in the kitchen, their own different tea. George thought about it all and he thought nothing had changed. He supposed, in the end, it was him who was changing, although really, he knew that already.

It was something like acceptance and denial, hanging somewhere in between. George realised he was lying to himself - calling it all acceptance, thinking that would make it better. He supposed really, sitting there, on his old bed, the same four walls surrounding him, he had to actually do something about it, instead of pretending.

His dad got home before long, it was all pats on the back, chats about work, about rugby. George stared blankly, nodding along as his dad discussed who was standing out that season. The food was ordered before long, knocks at the door disturbing mindless chatter.

George dished it out, all plates and tubs and forks and spoons. They sat on the sofa and tried not to spill any sauce, George thought it warm, something like home, something nice and something normal.

He supposed it was all different - it was coming home instead of being home. It was accepting things were different instead of pretending they were the same.

He looked around the room for Will, for the window - for something he could call routine, but instead, he came up empty. It was home but it wasn’t what he knew. He supposed that was alright, for a little while. It gave him space, to try and clear his head.

Because his head was so monumentally fucked; he’d been trying not to think about it, but it kept creeping in. This idea of identity, who he was. It was hard not to think about it, surrounded by a past life.

Although he was pairing the two together slowly. Realising this life was his life. Realising the boy he thought he knew was the boy sitting on the sofa, finishing off his food, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It all fell together like the impossible.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know who he was, it was that he was scared to be it. George laughed along with the TV, his mum pointing out something stupid on this show, laughter track serving as a mindless echo. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who he was, it was that he was scared to be it.

George supposed maybe it was time to be scared after all, instead of fighting against something he knew as fear - pretending he was invincible.

Six turned to seven and seven turned to eight, the sun setting through the window, reflecting against the brickwork. George’s mum made more tea, George’s dad rattled on about the rugby. George let himself feel scared, but he kept himself surrounded.

It was something he needed, when eight turned to nine and suddenly it was dark outside the window. Mindless catch up had fizzled out, yawns were filling the room. Nine turned to ten and George headed up to bed.

He collapsed against the sheets, everything smelling like something out of a dream. George sat back and looked around, letting memories absorb him like the room was full of energy and he was a broken lightbulb.

George sighed, turning off the light, clambouring under the covers. He scrolled through his phone, checking Alex’s messages before he checked Twitter.

He scrolled through mindlessly, seeing Will’s name in a tweet.

WillNE: nah a sausage roll and a cuppa is just not a good combo is it

George clenched his eyes shut; a part of him wished he was back home - London, home. With Will and the stupid sausage rolls. He saw the tweet was a couple of hours and wondered if he was out now, to some club with pretty girls and pretty boys. Everything simple and easy.

George opened his eyes, blinking heavily, the tightness in his chest returning like a lead weight. He opened Will’s contact, the realisation heavy that he hadn’t told him he was heading off. Although George supposed Alex would tell him if he asked, anyway.

The thought of it all made George feel trapped, like he was back in his room as a teenager, growing up and never understanding why things were changing. He supposed things weren’t that different now, but it felt like they were. George supposed the line between feelings and reality were different now, or maybe they always were.

George shook his head, his hair ruffled against the pillow, breathing in washing detergent he hadn’t smelt for months. He held the phone weakly in his hand, wishing Will was here, thinking himself stupid for running away when what he wanted was there.

It was all dotted around the nightsky - George not bothering to shut the curtains, streetlamps glaring through his window and stars illuminating the walls. It was all there, in front of him, somewhere two hours away from London, George supposed it was written in the stars, whether he wanted to believe it or not. Accept it or not.

\--

He had three missed calls when he woke up, his notifications blurring into one as George opened his eyes, limbs all heavy under the covers, still feeling stuck somewhere between night and day.

George lay on his back, thinking he didn’t remember falling asleep. He stared out the window at the blue skies and clouds, chimneys and birds. He rolled over, burying his head in the pillow, turning back to his phone.

He had messages from James and Alex; he furrowed his eyebrows, clicking on James first.

James: lol think alex is drunk n hes texting u

James: so just a warning if hes incoherent

James: im taking care of him dw x

George frowned, tilting his head, opening Alex’s thread of messages next.

Alex: hiiiiiii

Alex: r u having fun with ur mumm

Alex: ive had VODKA n its nice

Alex: round james for a PARTY

Alex: wills here hes sad

Alex: did something happen

Alex: IS THAT WHY UR HOME

Alex: georgeeee

Alex: oh its like 2am ur sleeeeping arent u

Alex: sweeet dreams fucker i will consume a drink on ur behalf xxcx

George rubbed at his eyes, groaning as he had to face reality. He actually had to open his eyes, the blue neon of his phone glaring at him like something accusatory. He looked around his room, everything the same as last night - just different, in the morning glow.

George looked at the messages again, thinking of Alex, thinking of James, thinking of Will. He thought about the party he was missing and wondered if he cared to have missed it.

Another call came blinking through the screen, the ring tone too loud for the peace of sunrise. George scurried to lower the volume, but he saw the name and didn’t move an inch.

The tightness compressed in his chest, squeezing at his organs tightly like knives at veins. He looked at the name and clenched his eyes shut, feeling something like sadness, guilt, things that he could barely name.

George thought about what Alex said, about the party, about Will being there, about Will being sad. George felt something heavy at the back of his fault, stumbling over whether he was to blame.

He supposed in the perfect world he wouldn’t have run, he would’ve faced it, learned to accept it the real way, with everything sprawled out in front of his eyes. Although George realised he didn’t have the guts for that, he needed the space, everything in shreds throughout his mind, instead of the open.

It would’ve been easier, dealing with it in London, with the city lights and sirens, but he couldn’t. It felt like every move he made was watched, all eyes from tower blocks and tube stations glaring orange in the lowlight. One wrong step and it would’ve crumbled.

And it did - crumble, it all fell to shreds in Tesco’s, Will swinging the basket like a sparkler, the shelves taunting like firewood, everything standing still as it all turned to ashes.

So George thought maybe the only option, in the end, was to escape, breathe air that wasn’t filled with smoke. A fresh outlook, a different version of him - the same, but different. It was still him, George thought again, feeling devastatingly real under the sun. He was still the same person, at home, in London, the fields, the cinema.

It was all him, every action, every emotion, every fear. It was all him. George sighed, letting it all wash over him, flooding his skin with something real.

The phone clicked off. George remembered where he was, suddenly snapping out of this reverie that he supposed was reality. He squeezed the phone tight in his fist, fingers clawing at the back, scratching like he could erase how he felt, make it easier, some way or another.

He forced his muscles to relax, his body to collapse into the sheets. George looked at the missed call - his call log counting it as the fourth. George rubbed at his eyes, thinking himself at a loss. He cleared through the rest of his notifications, seeing a voicemail, feeling the tightness grow in his chest again, constant, everlasting.

George stared blankly at the screen. He didn’t want to avoid it - he couldn't, avoid it. He wanted the acceptance, the stars in his old bedroom, the greens and the blues in the field, the unpainted picture in the cinema. He wanted it, but he wanted it right. He was terrified.

He clicked to dial voicemail before he knew what he was doing. His fingers twitched as he held the phone to his ear, tucking the duvet around his shoulders like it would protect him somehow.

Will’s voice was soft when the message played. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since he’d last heard him, but he stole his breath regardless. George shook his head, frowning, thinking he’d absolutely lost it.

“Hi…” Will mumbled on the message, “It’s late - like… one in the morning, or something, so I don’t blame you for not picking up.” He trailed off, speakers picking up on music and noise. George supposed it was James’ party.

“I’m drunk…” Will said muffled, “I think I am, at least. And… and Alex told me you’d headed home, and I just - I’m sorry if…” Will sighed, losing his place, starting again. George clung onto every word, “I dunno if I did something, or if… I don’t know, George. I don’t know.”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘bout the whole liking blokes thing,” Will said quietly, whispering, George didn’t dare move to turn up the volume, “I don’t know if I did something, or if you just wanted to… I don’t know - go home, for a bit. Maybe I’m reading something into nothing,” Will snorted, “I’m good at that, I reckon.”

George felt his heart twist - that same tightness pulled taut.

“Wish you would’ve told me…” Will said slowly out of nowhere, “‘Bout leaving, y’know? Alex just mentioned it when I got here… I thought I’d see you, but -”

George winced, this heavy weight desperate through his bones.

“I don’t know…” Will trailed off, his words slurred. “I’m drunk,” Will laughed, all hiccupy and stupid. George felt the world start to rattle again. “I’m so fucking drunk, George.”

Will sighed, George heard it all rattly through the speakers. He waited, his breath held in his throat as he waited for Will to continue. But he didn’t. The message went back to automation, telling him his options. It felt like this all or nothing, this ultimatum.

George thought maybe he was the one who read into it all, always searching for answers that weren’t there. The lady on the end of the phone repeated his options again, save, delete, or replay. George pressed three, his fingers sweaty, clinging to the phone against the pillow.

The message played again. George pressed three. On the third time, George heard the message cut off abruptly, the ring tone blaring through the speakers instead, shocking George into motion.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, his eyes glazing over as he read the name, feeling something tugging desperately, growing and growing until George snapped, pressing the green button, holding the phone to his ear.

Silence rang through clearly, the speakers crackling. George held his breath, hearing shuffling on the other end. It felt important, George thought. He didn’t understand. He supposed the constant reminders of childhood scattered around every inch made it feel different.

It felt weighted, like their voices were weapons and they didn’t know how to engage. George gulped heavily, feeling scared, terrified. He thought about Will on the other end, drunk - hungover, now. He thought about the sausage rolls, the tea, the muddy shoes. He thought about finding him pretty.

George opened his mouth, stuttering desperately, thinking about the stars and thinking about who he was. “Will?”

Will exhaled slowly, “Yeah… hey, are you - are you alright?”

“Yeah,” George stumbled breathlessly, “Yeah… Are you?”

Will sighed, George heard something like shuffling. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine… I’m sorry it’s early-”

“It’s okay,” George whispered into his pillow, curling up, feeling fourteen talking to his crush for the first time. He felt sick, fear filling up his lungs. “I listened to your voicemail.”

“Oh,” Will stuttered, “Sorry, it was late, I was drunk - if you couldn’t tell.” Will laughed, George snorted, “Sorry-”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” George interrupted again, biting his nails, twitching under the duvet, “I - I’m sorry, for not telling you, ‘bout coming home.”

“S’okay,” Will hummed slowly, “You didn’t have to, not really. I just… I worry about you.”

George inhaled, choking on the oxygen rushing through his bloodstream, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Will sounded so soft, his voice full of concern, all rough from the night before. George wondered if he was in bed too - if he’d even slept.

“I’m scared,” George said again, “Of accepting it all… of being… this-”

“Being bi?” Will suggested gently, rustling through the speakers.

George shook his head into the pillow, breathing in his mum’s laundry detergent, “Of everything.”

Will hummed. George remained silent, thinking it would make it all go away. Although he supposed he didn’t want that, not really. He wanted things he was terrified for wanting. All pretty boys and greens and blues. He wanted simple, easy. He wanted to feel okay in himself, in this version of himself - in every version of himself.

“Let me help…” Will spoke up. George tensed his muscles.

“Have you slept?” He said, changing the subject, feeling something warm slicing through the cold filling his veins. “After last night? The party, alcohol, and all.”

“Yeah,” Will said, “Yeah, I have a bit… just been, I don’t know, worried I suppose-”

“What about?” George frowned.

Will snorted, “About you, you idiot.” He sighed, clearing his throat, still sounding all gruff in the morning light, “You came over last night drunk telling me ‘bout pretty blokes, then this morning had a bit of a meltdown in Tesco, and just… I don’t know. I worried about you.”

“I’m alright,” George tried to define slowly, “I’m just… I’m scared, of-”

“Let me help,” Will said again, the words clearer this time, more defined. George heard shuffling, he wondered if Will was getting up. “You’re okay to be scared, y’know.”

“I don’t know how to accept it,” George mumbled, clenching his eyes shut. Will’s voice acting as a steady hum, reminding him of something real. Reminding him he was real. They were real.

“What do you mean?”

George sighed, thinking it too early for this, looking out the window, at the birds, the chimneys. Thinking this stupid, thinking himself scared.

“I don’t know,” he sighed slowly, “Change, I suppose. Accepting it - boys, and change, and everything.”

Will hummed gently. George always had found him calming. “It’s okay to find that scary-”

“It’s just…” George trailed off, pausing, biting his nails, “I’m scared.” He sighed, thinking about acceptance, “I thought I didn’t know who I was, lately, I mean… cos of finding blokes pretty and whatever.”

“Yeah?” Will mumbled in the background, sounding like he was flicking the kettle on. George felt a pang in his chest, wishing he was there, legs swinging, sat on the counter.

“Yeah,” George rubbed at his eyes, clenching his fists. He thought about acceptance, thought about Will, and thought the world pointless if there wasn’t a couple of flames. “I think I know now - who I am, I mean. But I’m so… I’m so fucking scared to admit it, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to be scared,” Will said slowly, “You are who you are,” the kettle switched off, the water boiling as Will juggled with the kettle.

“I’m scared of you,” George muttered, eyes clenched shut, everything felt like a dream, like he’d never woken up, still stuck with the curtains open in the twilight, staring at the stars. Or maybe he was still listening to the voicemail, talking into the void.

George opened his eyes, looking out of the window, birds making mindless noise in the background.

Will was quiet when he responded, his voice all low, still hazy and blurred from sleep and the party. “What do you mean? I - I don’t…”

“I’m terrified of you,” George said again, thinking about acceptance, thinking of past lives lived in this room, memories scattered around like leaves in the wind. He thought about acceptance and thought himself terrified.

“George,” Will said slowly. George felt his heart racing, the blood rushing to his head, all dizzy and sick - scared.

George looked out the window, watching the birds play, splashing in the gutters, “You’re…” he trailed off, looking at the blue sky, feeling transported to that feeling in the fields, the grass between his fingertips, the sky feeling infinite. Everything feeling cosmic. “You’re pretty.”

George inhaled sharply, the words disjointed, stuck in his throat, choked out like they were spat. The speakers crackled, the space felt endless. George felt terrified, silence reigning, everything frozen, like time had stalled.

He was still tired, his eyes blinking with sleep, Will’s voice trampled with drinks from the night before. It was all still blurred, hazy. Nothing defined, although everything different.

“George,” Will said again, stuttering in his throat.

George felt the tightness in his chest. He felt the freedom in the words. He felt acceptance, and he felt terrified. He hung up.

The silence was louder without a voice at the other end of the phone. George rested his head against the pillow, everything delicate, breakable. He lay steady, letting his phone buzz in his fist while he stared out the window.

He considered who he was, the ins and outs. He liked blokes, he supposed. He liked blokes. He liked long legs and frizzy hair, muscle and height. He liked blokes. George knew that, he supposed he had done for a while, in some capacity. But he hadn’t accepted it. He’d pretended to.

He’d admitted it, but he hadn’t come to terms with it. George lay there, his ankles crossed under the covers. He thought maybe it was scary, but maybe it was okay. He liked blokes, he thought again, the words streaming through his head; George let them.

He liked blokes, and he supposed it was time to accept it. He thought about the boy - the boys, in the clubs. He thought about Will. He thought about the faceless man in the porn. He liked blokes.

He wasn’t gay, George realised slowly. Girls were pretty just the same: short dresses, high heels, all lipstick and martinis. He liked girls, and maybe he liked boys. His phone buzzed in his fist, he ignored it, smiling lightly out the window.

He found himself somewhere in between. Something like sunset and sunrise, like awake and asleep, like greens and greys, blues and blacks. Somewhere in between. Girls and boys. George tilted his head, feeling sick, petrified, but he smiled. He watched the birds fucking around on the rooftops and the clouds deciding on directions and thought it okay.

He thought it okay. George felt his throat ache, haziness filling his vision. He blinked it back, thinking about acceptance, thinking about Will, thinking about who he was.

George’s phone buzzed in his hand again, the ring tone repetitive, filling the silence like the hum of the kettle, deep voices in the darkness. George sighed, staring at the screen, the lights illuminating his cheeks. He stared at the screen and pressed the red button, seeing Will’s name face away.

He looked in his call log, the missed calls, numbers scattered. The phone rang again, all tinkly and bright. George pressed the red button. Will messaged him instead.

Will: pls answer me

Will: sorry u surprised me

Will: please

Will: george

George sighed, feeling the haziness returning to his vision, something like tears falling down his cheeks. He wiped them away roughly, fingertips on his cheeks, swiping at the blur, rubbing at his eyes.

He thought about Will, about the ring tone running through the air again, he thought about his smile, his ridiculous hair that needed cutting, his muddy shoes. He thought about him and thought him pretty. George was terrified, but it wasn’t denial.

He felt sick, about the words spilling out of his mouth, about the ringing silence that echoed through his head. He thought about Will, the stuttered breaths, the texts, the endless phone calls. George thought about him and thought him pretty. He pressed the green button, fingertips grasping at his phone, holding it to the pillow like a lifeline.

“George?” Will said softly, all breathy and desperate.

George frowned, all confused. “Yeah?”

“Fuck,” Will sighed, “I didn’t think you were gonna answer.”

“Yeah,” George hummed, picking at the thread of the duvet, the tightness neverending, deep in his chest, under his ribs, surrounding his heart. “Sorry-”

“No” Will interrupted, clanking around, making mindless noise, “I’m sorry… I just-”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” George reasoned carefully. He tried not to think of this as a mistake. It was the truth, it was real. But it was terrifying. George thought in this battle of fear he was just a pawn playing the game.

“George,” Will whispered, his voice cracking. George frowned, his blood burning, “It’s just…” Will sighed, “Please, I wanna talk, but I just…”

“Are you alright, Will?” George asked softly. He looked out the window, at the terraces and the chimneys. He thought about London, and Will, and about who he was. He thought the world he knew was in London, with pieces of his soul trapped in the fields, the cinema, his bedroom, Will’s flat.

Will sighed, breath hitching in his throat, “Yeah… just - I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Will protested, “You can say whatever to me, you know that, call me a dickhead, or - or… pretty, or… anything, you know that.”

George bit his lip, clenching his eyes shut. It was real and it was the truth and it was out in the open, words between the phones, cracking over the speakers. It was real and it was there - tangible. Something outside of George’s mind.

“It just… surprised me,” Will said slowly, “I didn’t - I just didn’t think you-”

“Sorry,” George said, shutting him up. It was something to say, something to avoid the obvious, to prevent it all falling to pieces before the chance of resurrection.

“George,” Will sighed, trailing off, fading into silence. George heard shuffling through the phone, everything amplified through the phone line. “Just, I wanna talk, properly… just, come home, soon, yeah?”

George opened his mouth, shut it again. “I’m scared,” George blurted out, words before thoughts.

“So am I,” Will hummed roughly. George felt the breath leave his lungs.

“Not like this-”

Will sighed, “Come home, George.”

George clenched his eyes shut. It was all unknown, this whole world, the one with the terraces and the chimneys and the one with the towers and the smoke. He supposed it was the same world, just like it was the same version of himself.

He supposed he liked Will, when he could admit it. George sighed, opening his eyes, pressing the red button. He supposed he liked Will, his voice, the stupid expressions George knew he was making, the sweatpants a bit too short on his legs. George supposed he liked him.

He hung up, letting the world fall back into silence, the world he knew, the only world. He thought about what was outside the window, and thought about himself, inside, hidden safely under the covers.

It wasn’t that the outside was scary, it wasn’t that he didn’t know himself. It was that it was all terrifying. George locked his phone, the screen turning to black. It was that it scared him, to the core, being open, being this version of himself - the actual, version of himself.

It scared him. The world scared him, the greens and the blues and the greys and the blacks. It was all scary, and unknown, and something George couldn’t begin to comprehend. But he wanted to, he thought slowly.

He thought about acceptance, about Will, about change, about this world swallowing him without any concept of himself. But he supposed he knew himself now, he knew who he was.

He supposed him and Will weren’t on the same page; he didn’t know if they ever would be, but he supposed he missed home, and he missed his tea, and he missed the greys and the blacks, and he missed Will. He stared out the window, thinking about acceptance.

He unlocked his phone and booked a ticket home.

\--

George stayed until six; he helped his mum around the house and headed into town with his dad for lunch. He thought it all out of sync, like his world had been turned on his head. It was nice, really. It was nice being home, seeing his family, getting out of the loop.

But he couldn’t stop thinking. His head was spinning in circles he couldn’t keep up with. It was all Will, and fields, and pretty skies, and drunk voicemails. It was all the things that made George feel weak, like his legs wanted to give in on him.

He stayed until six, helping his mum make dinner. They made something of a stew. George realised he hadn’t chopped anything in months and narrowly avoided any blood. He chopped the carrots while his mum fried something on the hob.

But his head was racing, storming like it was something chaotic. George blurted it out, before he could think better of it. Think I like blokes, sometimes. His mum didn’t say anything for a minute, George thought he should’ve stayed quiet. It was all hollow words and meanings, until something clicked.

George put the carrots in the pan and his mum gave him a hug and fumbled an apology and explanation. George smiled weakly, feeling like a weight in his chest was lifting slowly and gently. His mother smelt like some posh perfume and something was burning in the kitchen and words were blurred but George thought it was alright.

And then he was on the train home. He got a lift from his dad, crisp packets on the dashboard and paid parking tickets in the door pockets. He said the same words again, the ones he said to his mum. The stunned silence followed, all stuck in slow motion. But then it was over, his dad had his eyebrows raised, focusing on the road. He nodded, humming.

George bit his fingers, thinking this was acceptance. Thinking this was who he was, thinking that he liked it. He hugged his dad over the gearstick before he got out the car, stumbled sorries and weighted smiles. His dad said it okay and George was off.

His earphones were plugged in on the train, his fingers tapping at his phone mindlessly. He looked out the window, watching the world go by at double speed. It was all twos and threes and everything all at once. George smiled, thinking this was the world he knew.

He watched as greens and blues turned into greys and blacks, something familiar, something like home. His fingers clicked mindlessly at his phone, needing something to fill his head, something that could take his mind away, for a little while.

George: <3

He sent the same message to his mum and his dad, thinking about them back home, everything feeling bottled up like childhood wrapped in glass. But George thought it good, to go home, to see his parents, to feel the memories and the sunrise that he grew up with.

It felt good, saying the words, and meaning them - believing them, more like. George rubbed his eyes, smiling at his phone, feeling this freedom that came with acceptance. He supposed he did like blokes, and he supposed that was alright.

He expected the silence, the stumbled words, the ‘are you sure’s’, but he supposed he didn’t mind it. It all felt distant now, on the train back to what he knew.

George was terrified, pressing buttons on his phone, turning the volume up and then down, up again before he stopped. He thought about acceptance and he thought about Will. He thought about what he said on the phone - about calling him pretty, about Will’s response.

He knew Will didn’t mean it the way George meant it, but that was all part of it now. It was all laid out, nothing hidden away in his chest. It was written just like the stars and George felt scared. But he supposed that was what acceptance is, this was what it all meant.

He opened his messages again, responding to Alex first: he was still around James’, sleeping and fucking off his hangover, George assumed. Alex was chatting shit and George just smiled.

George: alex u sound like ur drunk still idiot drink something

Alex: i AM drinking george!!!! James has water it’s good

George just sighed, shaking his head with a muffled laugh.

George: glad he does mate

George: im coming back now btw

George: so if u go home n see someone in the flat its just me

Alex: did george memeulous miss us already

George: shut up

George: was good to get away from ur mouth for a little while

Alex: u dont mean it xxx

George: u didnt fuck on the sofa did u im not gonna walk in n see anything incriminating

The train juddered on the tracks, no reply came through for a minute, until James’ name popped up.

James: alex fell asleep lol we didnt fuck on the sofa promise

George: ill believe it when i see it with my own eyes x

George clicked off, turning his music up again, fidgeting in the seat. It was like time had been frozen for so long and it was suddenly back to full speed. The train wasn’t moving fast enough, George wanted the comfort and the warmth of London and home and Alex and James and Will and George suddenly remembered the blanket.

He unzipped his bag in his lap, clinging onto the fabric with his fingertips. He shook his head, thinking himself stupid, out of his mind, absolutely blinded by something ridiculous. He left the bag open, taking his hand out again, but keeping his eyes on the blanket.

It was like it held a thousand memories of Will in his flat, asleep on the sofa, watching shitty romcoms, that night with the bathroom, the sounds, the echos.

George clenched his eyes shut, thinking he’d forgotten about the sounds and the echos. It all flooded back to him, stuck on a train somewhere on the outskirts of London, it all came back suddenly and George felt his breath snatched away.

It was all Will, everywhere, surrounding him when he was nowhere in sight. George’s mind was racing, everything pretty, laughs and fields and mud stains and-

It was all Will.

George opened his contact, opening a message, blank screen staring at him, waiting for him to do something. He typed out a message like fingers against a piano and thought himself stupid. He thought he’d lost his mind, but he thought he didn’t mind. It was all part of it now, he supposed.

George: coming home

George: meant it when i said u were pretty

George: sorry x

George sat and waited, staring at the greys and blacks, the world that he thought had burned coming back into view. It was like he was finally awakening from a dream. It felt good, feeling free, like he was in control of this acceptance, like he was the one who could make it simple, and easy, but he supposed he didn’t know that before. That it was him. It had to come from him.

But his phone never buzzed, besides a message from James telling him to get back safely. There was nothing from Will. George fidgeted in his seat, thinking himself stupid, like it was all a mistake. He knew it wasn’t easy, this bit, but he thought about acceptance and thought he couldn’t bury it until he choked.

So he was trying - properly.

The train slowed down and George zipped up his bag, hiding the blanket again, clenching his eyes and his fists and feeling stupid as he got off the platform. He stumbled home, thinking he couldn’t wait around for an Uber, he was ansty and he needed a cup of tea and he wanted to be home.

He kept his earphones in, bag hung low on his shoulders. He felt fourteen and coming home from school, the sun warm on his skin, shoes scuffing against the pavement like nothing else mattered. Although George supposed maybe it did matter, this time. He supposed maybe it always did.

He shook his head, thinking himself over dramatic - the same as always, searching for meaning. He thought maybe he needed it though, this security, this idea of meaning to fall back on, something safe, something real.

George tried to stop thinking, sick of his own head for once. He reached the tower block and slowed down, taking it in, thinking it hadn’t crumbled, nothing was on fire. Maybe there were a couple of ashes, smoke a hazy reminder in the distance, but it was intact.

George frowned, looking into the sky, looking out properly and seeing this world he didn’t understand. But he knew himself now, he knew himself, and in the end, George supposed that mattered.

The world hadn’t burned, the sun was still shining, sirens still glaring, cars still speeding. The world was the same, everything identical, just a little clearer, and a little blurred. Coming into focus.

George stepped inside, fumbling with his keys as he climbed up the stairs, thinking he hadn’t walked that far since the fields. He smiled as he unlocked the door, memories washing over his conscious. But he stopped in the doorway, hazy outlines on the sofa, all features and limbs and eyes shut in the low light.

George went to look out the window, before he realised the curtains were shut. George sighed, focusing on where he was now, without the outside, without the rest of the world watching. He stood in the doorway and looked at Will on his sofa and felt something tight in his chest.

It felt like everything was crumbling, although George supposed he was used to it now. It wasn’t something bad, it was just something real. It was something meaningful, important.

George thought he was stupid, overdramatic, but he thought Will was pretty, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, soft breaths from his lips, hair squashed against the cushions. It was Will, and it was real, and George didn’t know what to do with himself.

He stood there slowly, his shoulders slumping, his resolve breaking. Everything falling slowly, the tightness in his chest pulling him taut, keeping him upright. George shut the door behind him, dragging his keys out of the lock, taking off his shoes, taking off his jacket, putting them next to Will’s by the door.

George sighed, looking down, seeing a world beneath his feet. He sighed, thinking maybe he was sleep deprived and talking shit. He sighed, thinking he had a full nights sleep and knew that wasn’t it.

He stared at Will, all curled up, knees to his chest, his shirt wrinkled and creased around the neck. Will shuffled slowly against the pillow. George smiled, thinking about acceptance, about who he was - about being honest, with himself.

He unzipped his bag and shook out the blanket - Will’s blanket. He threw it over Will’s legs gently, clenching his fists by his sides as the fabric settled. He stepped back, creeping away to turn on the kettle, find some tea, settle down into something he knew, something he wanted.

Will woke up before he could move away. Grumbling in his sleep as he blinked his eyes open. He rubbed his fists against his eyes and George stood still, refusing to move, not knowing how to act. He thought maybe he’d gone soft, in the 24 hours he’d been away.

“Oh,” Will murmured slowly, staring up at George, he rubbed his eyes again, fists clenched against his chest, “I didn’t think you… I didn’t expect you back.”

George shrugged, everything feeling tense, breakable, delicate. Just like glass in the windows. “I think I know who I am,” he blurted out, “But I’m scared.”

Will frowned, sitting up, staring at the blanket, his eyes softening as he tucked it over his lap. He made space for George but he didn’t move. “Come sit-”

“I’m… I’m gonna make tea first,” George paused, staring at Will, thinking him pretty. “Do you want one?”

Will smiled gently, “Yeah, please.”

George tried at a smile, his feet moving towards the kitchen. He opened the cabinet, pulling out two mugs, the stick man and the Hello Kitty. George clenched his eyes shut, unbelieving. He grabbed for two tea bags and set the kettle humming.

“I’m sorry for… well, nicking your sofa as a bed.” Will mumbled, stretching, turning to look at George wearily. “Didn’t sleep well last night - well, you’d know that,” Will laughed gently. “Sorry about the voicemail too, think I’d had a bit much to drink-”

“S’alright,” George said, pouring the water, “You feeling alright though? Did you get any more sleep or did I fuck it up.”

“Nah, got some more,” Will yawned, “Maybe not enough, but some more.”

George smiled, sitting on the countertop, waiting for the tea to stew. It was all such routine, home, and Will. George kicked his feet out, knowing it wouldn’t be like this - Will was just being a mate. George sighed, not knowing what he thought anymore.

“How did you get in, anyway?”

“Oh,” Will laughed, coughing, “Sorry, Alex let me in, earlier… I wanted, I don’t know, sleep and quiet… and it’s nice here-”

“It’s the same place as yours, Will, mate.” George scratched his neck, “Just a couple streets away.” He laughed slowly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No - it’s just… I like it here, when you’re here.” Will frowned, turning away. George felt something warm in his chest. It scared him awfully. “Tea nearly done?”

George stumbled back into the moment, fishing out tea bags, gathering milk and sugar and carrying them back to the table.

“Thanks,” Will hummed slowly. George smiled, taking a sip, tasting his tea, remembering where it all started.

Silence hung for a minute, Will patted the seat next to him, George folded up his knees and tucked into the corner. Will threw the corner of his blanket over George’s lap. George smiled into his lap, feeling fourteen again, feeling stupid.

“I told mum and dad, you know…” George blurted out, filling the silence. He stared into his mug, at Hello Kitty staring back at him all stupid and pink. “That I like boys.”

Will looked surprised, eyebrows raised, warmth in his eyes, “Oh, fuck - did you?”

George snorted, “Yeah… were a bit shocked I reckon.”

“Yeah?” Will prompted after a moments silence, always there, ever comforting.

“Yeah,” George sighed, “I just said it on the way out, mum before I left, dad when he gave me a lift to the train… suppose I didn’t give them time to react properly, but it was alright, I reckon.”

Will smiled, George felt his cheeks warm, feeling comfortable, feeling himself.

“S’good,” Will said into the air, words twisting into the silence like whispers.

George sipped at his tea, Will’s mug empty on the table. George smiled into the cup, feeling something good. The tightness was still there, but it was looser, warmer. It didn’t feel like his chest was going to be ripped apart, rib by rib until he had nothing left.

It felt good, and it felt right. George shook his head, unbelieving.

“When you left…” Will started slowly, words all soft, “Did I do something? To make you leave-”

“No,” George interrupted, wincing, thinking of Alex’s text - Will’s sad. “It was just… me, being stupid - being scared, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to be scared, with me.” Will said, twisting his thumbs, his fingers digging into the blanket.

George clenched his fists, remembering the voicemail, the phone call, truth spilt between beings. “I know… I’m getting there, slowly.”

“You won’t be scared forever,” Will said softly, looking up from his eyelashes.

George looked at him, his hair all unsettled after waking up, eyes still half asleep, his lips between his teeth. George looked at him, felt the tightness, and thought he was pretty. More than pretty, maybe.

“When will it go then?” George asked, whispering, everything feeling intricate and fragile. “The fear - when will it go?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Will hummed lowly, fingers dancing over the blanket.

George sighed, curling up his knees, ruffling the fabric of the blanket. Two bodies in the lowlight.

“Remember when I asked you ‘bout liking blokes?” George murmured, fingertips gentle, lying next to Will’s. “And you said it was simple - easy?”

Will frowned, “Yeah?”

“In the fields, when I ran off - when you were on the swings, in the bathroom I realised I had this choice, to accept it or - or not.” George sighed, “I thought I had accepted it, then… But I didn’t, I know that now.”

Will frowned again, all shadows across his flesh. George just carried on, words spilling out like blood from a wound. Needing the words in the air, something real, alive, something he could heal from.

“I just kept replaying what you said… simple, easy. I tried to accept that, and - and be that… but I was just pretending.”

“I don’t-”

“I was just pretending to have accepted it. I knew I liked blokes, but I hadn’t… I hadn’t…”

“Hadn’t accepted it?” Will prompted, his legs nudging against Will’s, warmth seeping through the fabric of his jeans.

“Yeah,” George sighed, “I don’t think it was simple, for me.”

“It didn’t have to be,” Will said softly, “I’m sorry if I made you think, y’know, it had to be easy, ‘cos sometimes it’s not. It’s just all… it’s all personal, and dependant, and things are different.”

“No, you never made me think that… I think, I think i was just using it as an excuse, like - if I told myself it was easy and I’d accepted it then that would be that.” George looked up, eyes searching for a window, “But I hadn’t properly dealt with it, changing, knowing who I was, liking blokes.”

George looked away, the curtains covering the view, the world out there forgotten, for a little while.

“How did you realise, y’know, what changed?”

George looked down at their fingers, inches apart, everything felt slow. The evening setting in, everything slowing down, coming to a halt, the lights fading and the world blurring.

“I don’t know,” George said, shrugging, “But I realised, at mum and dad’s, that I need to actually accept it, instead of pretending.”

Will looked at him, shaking his head with a smile, “Yeah, you soft idiot, that would help-”

“Shut up,” George’s lips twitched at a smile, “But this whole thing of acceptance… I’m getting there,” George sighed, nails in the blanket, “I think.”

“Yeah?” Will said, voice hushed like something secret, something hidden between the pair of them when the world was quiet and the sirens had ceased.

George smiled, shoulders dropping, limbs heavy, “Yeah.” He looked around the room, instead of the window. He looked inside, the warm yellow lamp, the shadows, the reflections. It wasn’t greens and blues and it wasn’t greys and blacks. But it didn’t have to be. It was yellows and reds and warmth. It was everything George missed.

He looked at Will, tilting his head, thinking him pretty. He snorted, looking down at his hands, feeling like he was back in his childhood bedroom again, bothering over a crush with a phone at his ear, calling him pretty.

“I sent you a text,” George remembered, the tightness a heavy reminder, “On the train… did you get it?” George asked. He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer. He thought maybe he wanted to stay here in this limbo of not knowing forever.

But he thought about it, bodies under a blanket, knees tucked up together, hushed conversations under the lamps. He thought about it and thought he didn’t want to live in the unknown, this world of misunderstanding, of confusion, of not knowing.

He thought about it and thought he wanted to know who he was, where he stood, how he felt. He thought about the world outside and thought it didn’t matter, out there, who he was, where he stood, how he felt. But he thought inside, to him, it mattered. He couldn’t live in the unknown; he didn’t want to.

George sighed, looking up, eyes warm towards Will. Will looked confused, frowning. George thought it all stupid, like he was a child and this was a crush and it was all about to crumble. But he thought he’d lived in the flames, and he didn’t want to be scared, not of this, not anymore.

“Oh… no, I didn’t see.” Will hummed, sitting up straight, hands searching in the blankets, across the sofa, “Phone’s gotten lost somewhere.” He snorted. “I must not have heard it go off, y’know, sleeping ‘nd all.”

George felt his breath get stuck in his chest. He clenched his eyes shut, thinking this stupid, thinking this like one of those stupid movies, thinking himself scared. He opened his eyes and tried to breathe.

He grabbed Will’s wrist, stopping him, “No, it wasn’t… it wasn’t important.”

Will frowned, turning to face him, knees nudging and legs touching, fingers on skin, everything intertwined. “Huh?”

George let go of his wrist gently, letting his fingers fall in the blanket, letting his own do the same. He looked away, at the curtains, instead of the window. He thought about acceptance, about fear.

“You’re pretty,” George said, lowly, the words wispy, syllables disappearing as if they were never there. Will didn’t respond. George took another breath. “I don’t want to think you’re pretty… but it’s just - it’s so fucking…”

He trailed off, trying to breathe, watching Will’s nails clench in the blanket. He supposed the response didn’t matter, by this point. It was about him, and the world, and about something that mattered. Acceptance, and fear. It was about Will, but it was more than just him.

“You’re pretty,” George said again, cheeks warming, looking down at his lap. He felt the tightness and the warmth and everything in between. He felt a rainbow of colours, more than the greens and blues, greys and blacks, more than everything.

George finally looked up, like he was looking for the window in Will’s eyes. Will opened his mouth, his eyes looking like pools of water, like reflections and sunlight.

George cut in before he could say a word, his fingers twitching, this nervous energy bouncing around his body, unsettling and urgent.

“It’s all…” George sighed, looking down again, thinking it easier without Will’s eyes, looking in a mirror, “It’s the boys from the clubs, you remember? The pretty boy, and then the other pretty boy… and it’s the fields you took me to, and the ice cream, and the swings.”

George choked a breath, Will shuffled by his side. George felt every movement.

“It’s the fields, Will - fuck,” George sighed, rubbing at his eyes, “It’s the fucking fields… and the cinema - the cinema. The cinema with the popcorn and the… and when they had sex and all I could think of was you in the bathroom and the sounds.”

George gasped for a breath, words tumbling; he was falling and all he could do was make it a softer fall.

“And I shouldn’t be thinking of the sounds… ‘cos that’s - that’s not me, I don’t do that. I shouldn’t care, I don’t - I didn’t want to care. But it’s… it’s…”

George remembered who he was, where he was, who he was with. George remembered himself, liking blokes, his childhood in his bedroom, his home here, the tea, the hum of the kettle, the fields. Everything. George remembered how to breathe.

“You’re pretty,” He gestured, fingers waving, dropping down to the blanket, tensing in the fabric. Will’s eyes followed him. “You’re so pretty I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Silence rung. George panicked, his insides falling apart, clenching his eyes and his fists, trying to hold it all together. It felt like seconds and hours and it felt like acceptance. George inhaled quickly, the air feeling limitless.

It was the line between yes and no, everything and nothing. The line between two bodies, two lives. George rubbed at his eyes, his nails scratching at his skin. He didn’t expect a response; he wanted one, but he wasn’t expectant. Will was his friend, Will was his mate. Will wasn’t this. But he was.

“I’m scared,” George blurted out, like words were infinite and never-ending.

“You think you’re the only one?” Will responded immediately. His voice delicate, like broken shreds of glass across the kitchen floor. George held his breath in his throat. “You think you’re the only one who’s scared?”

George clenched his fists, focusing on the warmth, their legs touching, blanket across their laps. “Sorry,” George whispered, terrified. He thought about acceptance and tried to breathe. But he couldn’t, he thought he’d swallowed glass, blood down his throat.

He waited for the world to collapse, but the curtains were drawn. The world was asleep, hazy in the afternoon sun. It was just him, and Will, and words between bodies. And George thought himself stupid.

“Sorry,” George said again, “I - I shouldn’t have…” He looked at his lap, at Will’s fingers tight in the fabric, at his own lying on his lap. He looked at the space between and felt something tight in his chest.

It had all gotten ahead of him, emotions before logic. Words falling before meaning made sense. Although George supposed it didn’t need to. It didn’t need to be clear, it didn’t need to make sense. It needed to be real, and he supposed whatever this was mattered. He felt alive.

He felt the blood thrumming through his veins, the temperature rising, his head pounding, feeling dizzy and sick and high on something impossible. The world spun but everything stayed in place. He didn’t look up, terrified of Will’s eyes. But he felt it, the fear, care - he felt it, everything.

“Sorry,” George whispered, looking up, around his flat, thinking about everything and thinking about nothing. His head a mindless blur he couldn’t define.

“I’m…” Will started. George held his breath. “You’re not the only one who’s scared,” Will said again, like all that was between them was repetition and reflection. But George knew there was so much more.

George stayed silent, claws at his veins, at his skin, down his throat.

“I’m scared,” Will said, his voice low. The lights dim, the curtains shut. “I’m scared and I - I…”

“Sorry,” George clenched his eyes shut, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to remember why this was a good idea.

“No,” Will stumbled, his fingers twitching. George winced, feeling the world a little stiffer, a little warmer. “It’s…” Will tried again, pausing. His fingertips slow against the blanket as his forefinger met George’s thumb.

George stilled, mimicking a statue. Will’s fingers danced until they were lying in George’s palm, muscles tense and breaths held. George stared down, feeling everything stop. His fingers curled around Will’s knuckles, clinging like he was ten and it was his teddy.

George clenched his eyes, thinking this a dream. The lowlights, the curtains. It was all something unreadable, unexpressed.

“I’m scared.” Will said again, “I’m scared just like you are.”

George tilted his head, staring at the lamp, thinking it the sun. He wondered what the world would think, whether it would rain, whether there were clouds. He heard the sirens faint, cars in the distance. Everything a little far away, a little out of touch.

George opened his mouth, struggling for words. He smelt the smoke, imagined the houses, torn to ashes, bricks spewed against the concrete. But it wasn’t real. The world wasn’t burning, it wasn’t crumbling. Everything was the same. The window was shut, the world was the same.

“Will,” George said hopelessly. He looked up in the silence, the curtains swaying, the world hidden in Will’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Will mumbled, clenching George’s fingertips, nails against his palm, everything tight and warm.

George blinked, staring at Will, watching him shuffle, their legs knocking like pinballs. It was all still, and steady, and it was warm, and it was Will. It was Will. And George tried to look out the window, tried to search for the world crumbling, the greens and the blues, greys and blacks, but it never came.

The windows were closed, the curtains drawn. It was just them. Just Will, and George. It was everything, shared between bodies, limbs, bones. It was just them, and nothing was crumbling at all.

“Shut up,” George murmured, words slurred, clenched eyes, fists, warm eyes. George looked at Will and thought himself stupid. He looked at him and thought him pretty. He looked at him and thought of acceptance, and fear, but he thought of hope as well.

He looked at him softly, and then he leant his head against his shoulder. George’s cheek against Will’s neck, George’s skin burning with crimson blushes and Will’s warm through awoken sleep.

George leant on him and let his shoulder prop him up, their hands twined together like vines and greenery, like castle gates locked shut. The room fell into silence, something peaceful, glowing light through the scratches in the curtains reflecting like something heavenly. The warm orange glow of the lamp radiating something like warmth.

It felt good, George thought numbly, breathing in Will’s shirt, clutching his hand like it mattered. And George supposed maybe it did matter.

“Do you wanna put a movie on?” Will said slowly, his thumb rubbing over George’s knuckles, his breath soft against his hair.

George smiled, closing his eyes. “Yeah, go on then-”

“You’re gonna have to do it.”

George snorted, “Yeah, give me a minute then.”

Will hummed, all soft, something understanding. George let the silence sink into his skin, the world outside quiet, everything distant. George looked for the window, opening his eyes. He found the curtains instead. He supposed they were just as good, he didn’t need to see the world outside to feel something real.

George moved in the end, dragging his bones to stand, Will smiling at him all dazed, stealing the rest of the blanket. “You better give that back,” George yelled from the doorway, grabbing at his laptop from his bag.

“What? The blanket?” Will laughed, teasing, “I don’t know… it’s my blanket, after all.”

“Shut up and give it here.” George shook his head, clamoring back on the sofa, all bones and skin, everything tangled.

George set up his laptop, pressing play on something on Netflix; he couldn’t even remember the title. The score kicked in and everything fell into comfort. George fought Will for the blanket, gaining half over his lap in the end. George lay his head on Will’s shoulder, tucking his knees up to his chest, resting against Will’s lap.

It was nice, he thought slowly. Some character in the movie whistling, Will shaking his head in unison. George thought him stupid, he thought him pretty. He thought maybe it wouldn’t all crumble, after all.

George grabbed his phone out of his pocket when the credits kicked in, time all of a sudden racing, like it was on double speed, sirens blaring, cars chasing, the afternoon falling into the evening. He opened Alex’s contact, before copy and pasting the same message to James. Will watched over his shoulder, George didn’t think he minded at all.

George: home now just with will, dont worry x

“Everything alright?” Will asked, arms stretching, his shoulder moving under George’s cheek.

George smiled, fingers grabbing at the blanket, “Yeah,” he said softly, “It’s good… are you?”

Will turned, creasing his chin as he tried to look at George against his side, “Yeah,” he smiled, George felt the warmth of his breath.

Will trailed his fingers through George’s hair, all fingertips and softness. George tried not to lean into it, shivers through his veins as he let his body cave into the feeling.

He ignored his phone when it buzzed, then when it buzzed again. He ignored it and he smiled, leaning into Will’s touch, covered in a blanket, hidden in the shadows, behind the curtains. George smiled and thought maybe the world wasn’t burning, and maybe it didn’t have to.

“You’re pretty too, y’know,” Will whispered, breaking the silence. His hands slowly carding through his hair, bodies together, the world locked away.

George clenched his eyes shut, thinking this stupid. He looked up through his eyelashes and thought about a world behind the curtains, a world of sunlight and warmth in the evenings. He thought about it all, infinity, and thought he liked it, whatever this was.

“Fuck off,” George mumbled, burying his head in Will’s neck, smelling faint aftershave against his skin. He smiled, all teeth and flesh. He smiled and felt stupid, felt fourteen, felt like he had a crush and the world was impossible.

He smiled and he thought he knew who he was and what he wanted, and he supposed that this was it.

\--

It was all neon lights, heavy music, crowds of bodies. George felt lost in it all, like he was drowning, clinging onto Will like an anchor.

Alex had dragged them all out, some occasion that George reckoned was just an excuse to get everyone out the flat and bury themselves in alcohol. He didn’t mind, not really.

It was late now, some time after midnight, before sunrise. Something of a twilight zone, something in between, something that reminded George of purgatory - heaven and hell. Although he supposed it was more heaven, less hell.

Alex and James were long gone: George last saw them snogging against the wall, he didn’t keep track after that, he reckoned they could look after themselves. Fraser was off with some girl he’d bumped into, apparently they’d met before - George thought it more than that.

But he didn’t care, it wasn’t the forefront of his mind. He tongued at the straw in his vodka and coke, swaying against bodies, feeling small but not trapped. It felt free, this feeling of being nobody, believing in the world and the lights and this twilight hour.

George grinned, all teeth and crinkled eyes. Will just looked at him stupidly, raising his eyebrows at the bar. He was just getting another drink, George just watched him, all smiles and warmth, feeling like nobody in the crowds, but feeling like someone - feeling like himself, with Will’s eyes on him.

George lost himself in the music, grinning, shutting his eyes, his feet stumbling and his head bouncing like it was on springs. He supposed he was drunk; he couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had, but it didn’t really matter. His arms were loose and his fingers pointing at something invisible as he danced mindlessly.

He opened his eyes, looking out for Will, catching him eventually, glass in hand, nudging his way through moving bodies, everyone nameless, everyone fading away. Will shuffled closer, bumping George with his shoulder when he got close enough.

“There’s a pretty boy,” Will mumbled, cupping George’s ear, “Over there, behind you - all legs that man…”

George raised his eyebrows, laughing, clutching onto Will’s jacket gently, fumbly and unsure. “Huh?”

Will just smiled, tilting his head. George thought them both drunk. He thought himself stupid, and he thought Will pretty.

“Pretty boy. Behind you-” Will said again, fingers crossing and glasses cracking together. They were all limbs together, intertwined as one, feet bumping, fabric touching. George thought about boundaries, and thought himself drunk enough not to care.

“I don’t care about a pretty boy,” George whispered softly, staring up at Will.

Will looked confused, “No, look-”

“I don’t care,” George said again, louder, leaning into Will’s space. He clung onto his jacket, messing with the zip, fingertips muffling at his pockets.

Will frowned, his eyes stupid and warm. George closed his eyes, smiling, feeling young, feeling free. He opened his eyes and looked at Will, thinking about greens and blues, greys and blacks, thinking about the world, thinking about it all buried in their ribs, between their organs.

Traces of stories and memories, everything hidden, tucked away - just for them. The fields, the cinema. It was their moments. It was them. He thought about the endless romcoms, the blanket, Will’s fucking duvet. He thought about it and smiled. He thought about it and thought Will so pretty he didn’t know what to do with it.

George was drunk, his head scattered, but he smiled, he smiled and he loved it. He smiled and thought about acceptance, about fear, about who he was - identity. And he thought about love. He looked in Will’s eyes and felt the tightness in his chest, always growing, some galaxy growing in his heart.

“You’re pretty enough,” George whispered in the end, words lost in the music.

Will couldn’t hear him, George only smiled. “I don’t need to look at some pretty bloke,” George said again, “You’re pretty enough.”

“Fuck off,” Will snorted, looking down into his drink. George saw pink across his cheeks; he thought about mocking him, all teasing laughs and smiles, but he didn’t. George wanted to keep that, for himself. So he did.

George smiled, messing with Will’s zip. They swayed together, bodies and sounds. Will’s arm around his neck, the other clinging to the glass. It felt like one and the same.

“Oh,” George whispered, laughing. Drunk. “I think - I think I just broke your jacket.”

Will snorted, leaning closer, laughing into George’s hair. “Absolute idiot, how did you manage that?”

George laughed, resting his head on Will’s shoulder, “I don’t know… I was just playing with it-”

“That’ll explain it,” Will whispered, giggling, stupidly softly.

“Shut up,” George snorted. He tucked the zip in Will’s pocket, patting against his side. “The broken bit’s in your pocket-”

“Great - that’s handy, that is.”

George laughed, thinking maybe he’d entered hysteria. “Yeah… I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“Will you now?” Will shook his head, leaning back to look at George with quirked eyes and raised eyebrows. “What? Get your toolkit out and go for it like a mechanic.”

George snorted into Will’s shoulder, “Yeah.” Words soft, endless, fading away into the night, illuminated by spotlights. “Exactly that.”

“I look forward to it,” Will shook his head, looking at George with fondness in his eyes. George felt dizzy with it, smiling like the night was never going to end.

“It’ll be a spectacle,” George exclaimed, all hands gesturing, knocking between bodies. “You’ll love it.”

“I’d love it more if my jacket had a working zip-”

“Shut up,” George laughed. It was all soft, gentle. Delicate and fragile. It was all melting under the lights, everything contrasting the music, the desperation, everything feeling slow and endless. All George could do was smile.

Will looked at him and George felt his cheeks heating up. It was all fingertips and bones and flesh. It was softness in a world of fear and unknowing. It was George swaying against Will and Will holding him steady.

It was Will leaning in slowly, gentle eyes, soft features and it was George feeling terrified, looking up at Will and thinking it all stupid. It was mouths touching and tongues twisting. It was all warmth in darkness and noise.

George smiled against Will’s mouth, clutching his jacket, the broken zip. He smiled and grinned and Will looked at him all slow, smiling with red cheeks. George closed his eyes and pulled him closer, hands in his hair, Will’s drink knocking between their bodies, his other hand secured around his cheek.

George felt the world slow down, everything gentle, something like forever. He kissed him for the first time and felt the tightness in his chest ripped to shreds, bursting like flowers in bloom. He kissed him and smiled, leaning into him, the world quiet, everything still.

“Alright?” Will asked, pulling away, eyes blinking slowly.

George looked at him and felt terrified. He looked at him and smiled. “Yeah… you’re pretty.” He said slowly, drunk and lazy on his tongue.

“Shut up,” Will laughed, words falling from his tongue, running against George’s lips, “You’re prettier.”

George smiled, shaking his head. Time stopped. He closed his eyes and kissed him, mouths melting together like candle wax in the nightlight. He thought about acceptance and fear and who he was, and he felt terrified. But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care with Will’s mouth against his, their bodies together, bones and memories melting into one. He felt terrified but he thought Will was pretty. The world was invisible; it didn’t matter, it was just bodies colliding in the heat of an unrecognisable hour.

George smiled, feeling Will laughing against his neck. He smiled and thought about acceptance, and fear, and who he was. He thought about loneliness, how it all started, Alex and James, him and Will - everything changing.

The world was greens and blues, greys and blacks. Everything in between. It was fields and popcorn and it was everything. It was George knowing who he was and what he wanted, holding the key between his fingertips. He clung onto Will’s jacket and watched the world light up in sparks.

**Author's Note:**

> hello thank u for reading pls leave kudos and comments cos im a needy bitch and i appreciate it a lot
> 
> also hmu on tumblr my user is just roboticdisposition so message me if u wanna
> 
> thank u for reading big love to u all x


End file.
